All is Well
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Holidays for the Winchesters have at times been difficult. Haunted by what their family has lost, they must hold to each other to persevere through another tragedy. But Sam is determined to give his brother the gift of hope whether Dean wants it or not.
1. Chapter 1

All is Well

By: Ridley James

Beta: Tidia

Rating: T

A/N: December 1st. Here the bells? It's time for a Christmas story. (Okay, too much chocolate today). Well, this may seem odd for a holiday story; but in an ironic way I think it's fitting. To me, Christmas is the time of hope and faith as well as family and friends. It can be a blessing and at times seem like a curse. It magnifies all feelings, both good and bad. In general, I like to believe it brings out the best in people. If you're loved ones are together it is a magical time, if one has lost someone special, it can remind us of those who 'should' be there to share in the special time. I named this story after a poem that I love. One I've shared with others as well as took comfort in myself. I hope this story touches you and if not at least entertains you in this long dry spell of the writer's strike. It also is a story I've wanted to tell for a while, because I believe it holds relevance to events coming up in To the Victor Go the Spoils. Thanks as always to the reviewers and to Tidia. This chapter is a little shorter than most; but this story is 4 chapters long and I plan on posting one each week until the big day, December 25. Also, Tidia's Holiday story titled **God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman** is much lighter and absolutely wonderful by the way! So hopefully it will balance out all my angst . Poor Winchesters. I tend to pummel them at the holidays. To the Victor will be updated very soon. I have been quite busy finishing this one up and since it is almost done, I should be back to writing in the present, very presently.

_**All is Well. **_

_**Death is nothing at all.**_

_**I have only slipped away into the next room.**_

_**I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. **_

_**Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Pray, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was, let it be spoken without effect without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant.**_

_**It is the same as it ever was; there is unbroken continuity.**_

_**Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner.**_

_**All is Well. **_

_**-Henry S. Holland**_

"She was so checking me out, little brother," Dean Winchester proclaimed without a hint of shame. "I could try and get her number for you," he told the younger boy as they banged loudly through the front door of the small apartment. "Maybe if you had some mistletoe, you might even get her to kiss you. Drop a line to Santa, and you might even cop a quick feel."

Sam Winchester rolled his eyes, dropped his books on the couch before starting for the kitchen. "Don't do me any favors, dickhead."

"Don't be that way, Sammy. You know who may be listening." The seventeen-year-old followed his brother, unwilling to give up the torment. "And besides, I'll let her down easy, and she'll need someone to sweep in and console her. Girls are softer at the holidays. They have visions of sugar plums and all that shit dancing in their heads."

"Shut-up!" Sam shot over his shoulder as he turned the corner into both dining area and cooking quarters for the Winchester family.

He was brought up abruptly as he caught site of his father sitting hunched over at the wobbly card table. Sam hadn't expected the man to be home. In fact, he thought their father had left that morning for a hunt, promising to meet them in Kentucky in time for Christmas Eve. He hadn't even checked the lot for Dad's truck.

"Dad?" his brother's voice was sharp and held the edge of anxiousness Sam felt.

At first John continued to hold his head in his hands. It was only when he finally lifted his gaze to his sons, they caught site of the phone grasped tightly in his fingers. "Boys." His voice was rough. Sam sensed his brother move closer to him.

"Dad, I thought you were going to Biloxi this morning?" Dean asked as he moved around the thirteen-year-old and stepped closer to their father. "We were going to meet up with you next week at Pastor Jim's."

Sam continued to hang back, an unfamiliar charge in the air keeping him frozen in his place. He glanced to the table again, noting the bottle of whiskey and a half-empty shot glass. "Dean?"

John looked at his eldest, but remained silent. Sam wasn't surprised when Dean stepped in front of him. There was something dangerous in the room with them; and his brother was the ever vigilant protector. "Dad, are you okay? What's wrong?"

John shook his head and carefully placed the phone alongside the amber liquid. "There's been a change in plans, boys…we're going to Kentucky tonight."

"But it's the middle of the week…" Sam started, only to have his concerns about missing an end of semester test abruptly halted by his father.

John's stony gaze zeroed in on his youngest son. "Don't," he ordered.

It was more the bloodshot eyes than the icy tone that had Sam taking a step back. His father was not in any kind of state to hear a rebuttal. Even Sam wasn't brazen enough to cross him on the rare moment he had given in to the temptation to drown all his misery in a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Dad?" Dean tried again. "What the hell is going on?"

Sam watched as his father looked at Dean. The teen felt as if he were suddenly cast out of their dimension, forced to watch from behind thick glass as his father spoke to Dean alone. Sam may have physically still been present in the room, but as soon as John Winchester began to speak, he felt himself disappear completely.

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"I'm so damn sorry, Son."

Dean frowned. "For what?"

John glanced down at his hands, trying to get the buzzing in his ears to stop. He eyed the whiskey, wondering if adding another shot to the other two would bolster his courage. He wanted to get drunk to endure the reality of another loss in a stupor of alcohol induced haze; but he had to face his boys. They deserved better. "I have some bad news." God. What was he saying? That didn't even begin to cover it.

A hint of Dean's half-assed grin appeared. "Bad news as in you sold the Impala while I was at school, bad news?"

Others might have missed it, but John heard the slight tremor in his son's voice despite the typical humor. The kid was insightful as hell-in tune to the emotions around him. John bowed his head, closed his eyes for a moment. The soft touch on his arm made him realize his body language had answered Dean's question.

"Who?" Dean asked quietly.

John swallowed hard. Dean's hand swam in and out of focus so he took a quick breath, and shook his head to clear his muddled thoughts. He roughly palmed his eyes.

"Who? What?" Sam asked hoarsely.

John didn't look at the younger boy. He'd be unable to speak the name if he did. As it was it felt like jagged glass on his raw throat. "Caleb."

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Sam was once again grounded in the room, brought back from his false anonymity by the shear state of confusion. He saw his father's mouth move to answer Dean's question, recognized the syllables on some basic level; but his mind refused to process what it was the man had said.

He watched his brother stagger as if the floor had shifted beneath his feet. Dean yanked his hand away from his father. "What?"

Dad blinked, his dark lashes glistening with moisture. It was then Sam realized his father's eyes were not red from alcohol, but crying.

Crying was not allowed in the Winchester family. Winchesters only cried if a major organ was in jeopardy, a limb was missing, or someone they loved had…

Death.

Sam swallowed thickly. That was the dangerous thing lurking in the shadows. There was no enemy more formidable for the Winchesters-for anyone.

Sam should have recalled the difference in his father's face from the few times he had seen the man break. Times from when he was a child and his mother's birthday would roll around or the anniversary of her death. Blood could be regained, time recouped, but losing something invaluable, irreplaceable was reason enough for tears, even by the Winchester code.

_Who? _Sam was so focused on his thoughts he still couldn't comprehend John's reply. The name sounded foreign. But the way Dean reacted- Sam wanted to shout for their father to just shut up.

Unfortunately, Dad kept talking. "Bobby called this morning after you two went to school. A hunt went bad yesterday and…they searched all day and last night…"

" No." Dean shook his head slowly. "That…that can't be right."

Sam wondered why something warm and wet splashed onto his own cheeks. So what if stupid Bobby called? What was the big deal? Before he could think anymore about it, his father pushed himself to his feet, taking a step closer to Dean.

Dean stumbled back before their dad could touch him. "You're wrong!"

His brother's shout sent a shudder through Sam's body. The hot tears falling steady stung his cheek like acid. Dean never yelled at their father. It was as ingrained in him as the whole 'no crying rule.'

Sam half expected for John to bellow back, but instead when he spoke his voice was full of compassion, choked with emotion. It was worse than any screaming. "I wish I were, Son. Believe me. God…I loved him too and..."

"Shut up!" Dean growled. Sam watched in disbelief as Dean slung his arm out, catching the bottle of whiskey at the neck and sending it shattering against the wall. "You're fucking drunk! You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

Sam heard himself let out a frightened mewl. He was afraid his father might hit his brother. Dad looked so unsure of what to do next.

But Sam knew his father. He guessed the man had been playing this scene over in his mind the last couple of hours-hoping to find the best way to deal with it. John Winchester didn't do anything without a plan.

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John stood frozen in place, paralyzed by a myriad of emotions. With Mary there had been no lag time, no real need to explain. It had been so cruel for Dean to witness what happened to his mother, but at least John did not have to provide an explaination.

And Dean had been just a boy then. Only four when his world was ripped apart by death. He was still innocent. The worst he had faced was a skinned knee, a scraped elbow, nothing compared to a broken heart. But then their tragedy had changed all that. Death intervened, stealing the purity Dean should have had for years to come.

John had held Dean then, shushed away his child fears and grown-up misery. He'd whispered promises he couldn't keep, like that things would be better tomorrow. All would be well again. John then did one good thing. He put baby Sammy in Dean's arms and told him to rock his brother to sleep. But now Dean was a man…a man who didn't deal well with pain and emotions, at least when they were his own. Another legacy John would leave his children. "Dean…Son…"

"Don't!" The boy held his hand up, shook his head again. He stepped further away, putting more distance between them. His voice broke and John felt sick. "Just…don't."

Before John could stop him, Dean surged forward, darting past him and around Sam to take off for the living room. John squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the front door slam, feeling like a gunshot to his chest. "Goddamnit!" He was a fucking miserable excuse for a father. No doubt Caleb would have agreed wholeheartedly if he'd been there. God how John wished he were there.

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Sam felt more than saw his older brother run past him, although it seemed almost as if he had moved through him. The already cold air around him dropped to frigid and Sam felt himself trembling harder. He looked to his father and Dad moved towards him in slow motion.

"Sammy?" John said softly, holding his arms out, offering what looked like shelter from the bone-aching cold.

How long had it been since his father held him? Sam couldn't remember, but he felt himself leaning, or maybe falling.

All he knew was his father was there, holding him up, hugging him tightly. Sam couldn't catch his breath. It was sinking in. It all made sense.

The syllables became clear, rang hollow in his head like church bells. His father had said _Caleb_.

Caleb was dead.

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"_**I've got you covered, Deuce." Caleb Reaves grinned. "Trust me." **_

"_**They don't let eighth graders on the freshmen team." Dean tried once again to explain to the older boy as they walked towards the small ballpark in New Haven. Caleb was in for spring break; Dean and Sam were at Jim's for the long Easter weekend. Dean had made the mistake of mentioning baseball tryouts were the following week at his school and Reaves and Sam had latched onto it like Scout with one of her pull toys. "It won't even matter if I try out."**_

"_**But this coach has never had an eighth grader like you, Deuce. You're a natural." Caleb threw an arm around his shoulder. "And you've got an advantage." **_

_**The thirteen-year-old rolled his eyes. "And that would be?" **_

"_**Me and Sammy." **_

"_**Right." The nine-year-old Sam piped up with a smile. **_

"_**And what are you and the midget going to do? Muscle the coach into taking me for a benchwarmer." **_

"_**We did research at the library yesterday," Sam informed his brother. **_

_**Dean looked at him. "When you were supposed to be researching the ways to kill a water spirit?" **_

"_**We did that too," Caleb amended. "But really, how many ways are there to kill a water spirit?" **_

"_**None that we could find," Sam reminded him. **_

"_**But you told Bobby…" Dean started and Caleb shook his head. **_

"_**He'll improvise and it's not like a little bath is going to hurt Bobby." **_

"_**He'll kick your ass is what he'll do." **_

"_**Maybe, but no strong arm tactics with your coach will be necessary." Reaves pointed towards the field. "You're going to learn so much stuff today that your coach won't be able to afford 'not' to put you on the team." **_

_**Dean sighed. "I hate to mention this, but Sammy can barely get the ball over home plate from three feet away." **_

"_**Yes, I can," Sam defended. **_

_**Dean ignored his brother and continued on, "And your knowledge of homeruns isn't exactly the kind I can use at my age."**_

"_**True." Reaves grin grew. "But those guys know their stuff." **_

_**Dean looked across the field where two guys were tossing a ball back and forth. He glanced back to Caleb. "And they are?" **_

"_**Some old friends from way back." Reaves shrugged, waving a hand at the guys who had looked up at their entrance. "They went to one of the private schools Mac sent me to." **_

"_**Okay." **_

"_**Don't look so impressed, Deuce." Caleb shook his head, casting a frown in the youngest Winchester's direction. "I suppose I need to pull out the big card, Sammy." He looked at Dean again. "Cam and Parker play minor league ball for the Mets organization. I mean it's not the ghost of Shoeless Joe Jackson, but I really didn't have the time to build you a spirit field in the middle of Jim's back forty." **_

_**A disbelieving look crossed over Dean's face. He glanced back to the two men moving towards them. "No way. What are they doing in New Haven?"**_

_**Caleb shrugged. "What can I say? They wanted to see the bustling sights and I told them about Jim's apple pie."**_

_**Dean rolled his eyes, but couldn't keep the huge grin off his face. Leave it to Caleb to bribe some buddies to fly in for a private training session. "Couldn't you have just gone to Daytona or Cancun like most normal college students, Damien?" **_

"_**And missed torturing you for three days. No way." **_

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It had been three days ago when Dean last talked to Caleb.

The older hunter had called to ask John a question about something he was researching, and while his father had gone to get his journal, Dean had commandeered the phone.

Weary of reminiscing ancient history, Dean leaned his head against the passenger window of the Impala and instead tried to recall their final conversation as he endured the drive to the farm.

He couldn't remember all the specifics, not every word, or how it started or ended. Funny how a memory of a day of baseball nearly five years before seemed just as clear. But Dean remembered pristinely the plans they made.

Dean's eighteenth birthday was coming up. And although Dean could have cared less about the milestone, Reaves insisted on a celebration. Dean could pick the place, the type of fun, and the company. Nothing was off limits for his official entry into manhood.

When Dean had tried to brush it off, Caleb had followed up with a typical insult about miracles being far and few between. It was only by the grace of God that Dean had lived to the ripe old age of eighteen, considering the amount of trouble he attracted. Jim would view it as blasphemous if they didn't pay tribute to such an obvious blessing. Mackland would be crushed if he wasn't allowed to buy some ridiculously expensive present to demonstrate his pride and affection in typical Ames fashion. The teen relented.

Dean had been looking forward to the event since, playing different scenarios in his mind as he whittled away the last few weeks of the winter term in a boring classroom. He'd always wanted to go to Vegas, but then Reno was tempting, as was the sunny L.A. coast.

Honestly, just the idea of hitting the road for a weekend of complete freedom was the most appealing aspect. He might not have a group of friends to mark the milestone with, but Caleb was better than a bunch of kids he wouldn't recall after graduation. Dean would always remember Caleb. Even if at that moment all the seventeen-year-old wanted to do was forget everything about him-especially the pain of losing him.

Unfortunately, as his family reached their destination, Dean was faced with the fact haunting reminders were lurking in the shadows everywhere. His father pulled the Impala in front of the barn at Pastor Jim's. Spot-lighted by the Chevy's headlights, Caleb's Jeep was impossible to ignore.

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Seeing as how several cars already lined the gravel parking area in front of Jim Murphy's drive, John drove a little way down to the front of the barn. The Impala's headlights reflected on the other vehicle parked there, illuminating the back of the dusty blue Jeep. The New York on the mud-smeared license plate was barely visible and a sharp ache lanced through Winchester's heart as he remembered ribbing Caleb the last time he'd saw him about the dirt being the only thing holding the old heap together.

Reaves might not have shared his and Dean's love of classic cars, but he loved the old Wrangler for a lot of reasons. For one, Bobby and John had bought it for him. The three of them along with Dean had worked on it to get it running and road-ready. You would have thought the kid was being presented with a prized Ferrari when they were finished. The look on the fifteen-year-old's face was worth every moment of the tongue lashing The Scholar had doled out.

To say Ames had not been pleased was an understatement, but to the man's credit he kept it together until he got Singer and Winchester alone. John knew the boy could have had any vehicle money could buy, but Caleb surprised them all by holding onto the old 4x4.

Caleb, underneath it all, didn't have the heart to let go of things that mattered to him. He was loyal and sentimental. It would have killed him to know how easy it was for his mentor to see the weak spots. How many times had John used that information against him in the name of doing what was best in the long run? Did Caleb know how much John loved him?

"Dad?"

Sam's soft voice broke John's dark reverie. He realized he had turned off the ignition, but was sitting frozen in place. He wasn't sure how long he had been that way, but his youngest son was staring at him with concern. Dean was no longer in the car, the passenger door standing wide open. "I'm okay, Sammy."

"Dean..."

"Dean will be okay, too." Maybe. John opened his own door and waited for the other boy to do the same. "Let's go inside, Kiddo."

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Sam didn't know what his father was basing his judgment on because he had never seen his brother in such a state. Dean hadn't spoken during the entire five hour trip to Kentucky.

Even when Sam had tried to talk to him while they were packing their things, his brother had remained silent. When Sam started to cry, Dean had slipped his arm over his shoulders, pulled him close and ran a hand over his hair in comfort. But, he hadn't spoken to Sam.

It was unnatural and scary. Dean always talked, even when Sam didn't want him to. Dean always knew what to say to make things better.

Maybe nothing would be better again.

RcJ

Chapter 2 coming on December 8th.


	2. Chapter 2

All is Well

Chapter 2

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Wow. What can I say? Thanks so much for all the very kind reviews. They have meant a lot! I'm so glad that you enjoyed that first angsty chapter. It doesn't get much better in this one. I hope you enjoy the different view points in this part, as I think there are some surprises coming up. You might begin to recognize this story as one that has been mentioned before. Please, let me know what you think. **Note:** The flashback scene in this part comes from Tidia's last year Christmas story Charge Their Doings. Thank you to her for letting me incorporate it.

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Coming to Jim's had always brought Dean a sense of peace, a nostalgic feeling of returning home, especially at the holidays. Jim made an effort to make everything seem like some freakin' TV special. From the first Christmas Dean spent there when he was five, he'd secretly loved the idea of being surrounded by all the sights, sounds, and smells It reminded him of Mom.

But now, walking the path to the farmhouse only brought dread and fear. Scout's greeting bark rang hollow. Dean ignored the cold nuzzling the big black Labrador attempted as she brushed alongside of his legs.

He braced himself as voices floated from the kitchen through the screened porch. Dean took a deep breath. The night air was sharp with the scent of wet earth, fallen leaves and pine-everything laid bare by the first touches of winter.

Jim's enclosed porch was alive with blooming cacti and all colors of poinsettias. The pastor loved flowers. Dean knew they reminded him of his late wife Emma. She enjoyed gardening. Jim tended to the plants with all the care he used to lavish on the boys when they were young.

Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat, resisted the call of solitude the pond offered, and maneuvered around Scout to enter the house. The screech of the screen door quieted all conversation. It sounded painfully loud.

Jim's face was the first thing his mush-filled brain conceptualized, He had to look away quickly before the watery blue gaze had him losing the tenuous grip on his composure. That wasn't an option in front of the group gathered before him. It might have been Jim's kitchen, but not all those around the table were family. There were strangers among them.

Harland Sawyer sat closest to the door with Bobby Singer to his right. Ian Hastings leaned against the upright freezer and Joshua Sawyer was by the sink. Mackland sat at the far end of the table, his head bowed, looking small.

It wasn't as if Ames took up space in a room like John Winchester, but he emitted an aura of power just the same. The psychic had a knack for drawing people in like the warmth of a campfire on a cold night. But now that light was gone. Dean felt colder than he did while in the night air. He realized painfully it was a cold he brought with him; one he would carry with him from now on.

Mackland seemed to sense the scrutiny or perhaps the realization someone new had entered the house. He lifted his gray gaze from the intense study of the table, briefly meeting Dean's eyes. A hint of dimpled smile touched his lips, but vanished quickly as he looked towards the door where John and Sam had just entered.

Sam moved to Dean's side. Dean didn't rebuke the close presence. He imagined Sam was feeling out of sorts like him. It was an odd sensation to have at the farmhouse.

Any other time, Sam would have stripped off his jacket, thrown it on the table and took off for the pile of presents in the living room, Scout loping behind him. The Lab wasn't above sniffing out her gifts from the massive stash and together they would entertain themselves for the next hour, Sam trying to guess the contents of each package.

His father's deep voice brought him from his thoughts. Dean watched the man move towards Mackland.

"Mac."

Mackland stood, and extended his hand to John. John gripped it, then pulled his friend in for a hard embrace. They exchanged words only between them, then John stepped back.

Dean was struck by the presence his father commanded. It was an immediate effect. Everyone straightened, holding their shoulders back as if preparing to be dressed down by their drill sergeant.

It brought another wave of longing as a vision of Caleb entered his mind. His friend was immune to the John Winchester effect. Caleb would greet his mentor with a carefree, devil-may-care attitude with a cocky smirk or grin, depending on his mood.

John would act annoyed or bark a few reprimands, but Dean never missed the flash of amusement in his father's dark eyes, or the hint of pride as he regarded Caleb. It was a look he had noticed Dad giving Sam these last few months when the terrible teens had him stepping out of line.

"Johnathan, it's good you're here." Jim's voice broke the spell. Dean forced himself to look at the man. After all, Murphy had his own way of demanding attention. "We were discussing our next course of action."

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Sam watched his father ignore Pastor Jim in favor of stepping to the chair where Harland Sawyer sat. "First, I want to hear what the hell happened."

The youngest Winchester watched the other hunter stand. He felt Dean move closer to him. Any other time the protective move might have annoyed Sam, but considering his brother's mood since the news, he would just about let him get away with anything.

Besides, Sawyer was big and just about as hardheaded as their father. He was nearly as tall as John, but leaner. Joshua had inherited his light hair and eyes from the man. Harland had the same well-bred look as his son. Caleb liked to call them the Stepfords. Although, Sam wasn't quite sure of the reference, he understood the eldest Sawyer was quite aware of his height advantage over most others.

"I've explained the situation to Jim."

John didn't back down, Sam held his breath as his father stepped in the other hunter's personal space. "Explain it to me."

"Or what?" Harland countered with a mocking scoff. "You'll draw Excalibur and run me through, Knight Winchester?"

"That's enough," Jim said.

Sawyer waxed apologetic. "I'm sorry, Jim." He made a pointed gesture of turning to Mackland. "It's been a tiresome couple of days. I meant no disrespect. I'm not trying to make this harder. I know how I would feel if I had left my son in those woods."

"But you didn't." Dad's voice was cold. He had yet to remove his eyes from Harland. "You left Mackland's."

"You act as if I had left one of yours." Harland's voice had regained its bite; he flicked his ice blue gaze to Dean and Sam. "Perhaps you should take a headcount."

Sam shivered, unconsciously sidling closer to his brother. Scout whined from her perch sitting on Sam's feet.

"John."

Mackland's voice stopped Dad from moving closer; but Sam didn't miss the raging look he shot Sawyer. The man was lucky he was still standing upright. "Tell. Me. What. Happened."

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"The werewolf happened." Bobby spoke up. He recognized the look in his friend's eyes. The man was on the proverbial edge. Singer stood up, his muscles protesting the action. He suddenly felt so damn old.

The mechanic took a deep breath and faced John. It wouldn't do any body any damn good if Winchester busted Harland in the mouth. Bobby might have enjoyed it, but Jim would not have appreciated the spilling of more blood. "We split into pairs-separated to cover more ground. Caleb and Rick didn't meet back up with us."

"What the hell, Bobby?" John growled, sliding a hand over his mouth.

Singer didn't need an interpretation. John expected him to stay with Caleb. He trusted him to watch the kid's back. Not a Sawyer and definitely not a Hastings, even though Rick was nothing like his younger brother, Ian. "The boy didn't ask my damn permission, John."

In fact, Caleb hadn't said anything to him. They'd had words earlier. The kid could be moody and thin-skinned at times. Bobby wasn't good at tact. It made for awkward situations, awkward in that Bobby usually ended up feeling like an ogre and wanting to knock some sense into the boy's head.

"Orders don't require permission."

"It was my hunt," Harland interrupted. "I sent Reaves with Rick. Bobby with Ian. And I went with Joshua." He glanced to Jim. "That's how it works, correct? Older hunter and rookie pair off?"

"None of this bullshit matters," Ian spat, pushing off from the freezer. "We should be out there hunting that thing down. It killed my brother, too. A fact you all seem to have forgotten."

Bobby sighed. He didn't like Ian; but the kid had been through the ringer. "No one has forgotten that fact, son. The moon is in the wrong phase now. We won't see that wolf bastard again for another month."

"We need to recover the bodies," Jim said, reverently. "Bring the boys home."

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Something snapped inside Dean. He wasn't sure if it was Ian's proclamation that his brother was dead or the idea of Caleb being referred to as a body by Jim. All Dean knew was that he had to escape from Jim's kitchen where all ills were cured by a hot cup of coffee or a glass of iced tea and a slice of apple pie. Nothing felt right. Dean didn't feel right in his own skin. He had to find some relief.

The pond was his first thought, but then that would mean crossing his father's path. He chose the passageway of least resistance. He ducked his head and strode to the far end of the kitchen where the staircase lay behind a squeaky-hinged door. Dean heard his brother call out to him as he climbed the wooden stairs two at a time; but he was too far gone to stop now. Over a cliff, freefalling.

He entered his and Sam's room, moving like a ghost towards the doorway across from his bed. Dean laid his hand on the cool metal doorknob, knowing it wouldn't be locked. They never locked it. He rested his forehead on the wood and took a deep breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself, garnering a strength he wasn't sure he had.

With only a slight resistance the door swung inward. Dean crossed the threshold into Caleb's room. Nothing had changed in the last few months since they had been there, a weekend stay to help Jim put up hay for the winter. They grumbled about the task, but showed up every year. Mac, John, even Bobby. It was more of a ritual than Thanksgiving or Christmas, which Dad sometimes ignored depending on his mood and job he was working. But helping Jim was sacred.

Caleb's bed was haphazardly made. Dean forced his eyes away from the achingly-familiar flannel shirt thrown over the metal rails as he took a seat and buried his head in his hands. "Goddamn you." He breathed, trying to quell the sudden onset of nausea as he realized Caleb wouldn't take up space in the room again. How could that be? How could life change so quickly?

Dean brought his hands down from his face, gripping the quilt beneath him. He blinked the hot moisture from his eyes and looked towards the nightstand. Caleb was everywhere, but blatantly missing at the same time.

All the boys left pieces of themselves here, memoirs of their childhoods. It marked the farm as their home.

For Sam it was the one-eyed WooBee bear, a handful of miniature dragons lined purposefully on the dresser, a wild-haired troll doll among their ranks.

Dean's first ball glove and an old L.L. Bean backpack resided on his bedpost along with a frayed Red Sox cap. There were numerous baseball trophies, including a prominent MVP ball with his name, several framed baseball cards, a collection of bird feathers and a toy silver winged horse on a shelf above his bed.

Caleb had a painting by his mother, pictures of his grandmother, Ruth, the quilt she'd made him which Dean was currently sitting on, several model bridges, sketches, and the book. It was a leather bound tomb Mackland had given him on the day his adoption was final. The Three Musketeers.

They'd all read it or been read to from its pages. Nothing spoke more of his friend than the story of a boy who wanted above all else to rise above his own station in life and simply belong to a group of men he saw as heroes.

It was resting on the nightstand atop some architecture digests and a tattered Clancy paperback. Dean's hand seemed to reach for the novel of its own volition, his fingers brushing against the gold-embossed lettering. He picked it up. His eye caught sight of the marker peeking out from the middle of the book. A playing card. The deuce of spades.

Dean's throat felt as if it were closing. His eyes burned causing his vision to swim in and out of focus. He clutched the book to his chest and did something he had not done since his father told him Caleb was dead. He cried.

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Sam looked anxiously towards the stairway where his brother had disappeared moments before. He was worried. Dean didn't dash out of a room. That was more Sam's thing. Dean wasn't big on drama. But this was a side of his brother Sam had never seen..

With a slight surge of desperation, he moved to go after Dean, but Pastor Jim stopped him with a sad shake of his head. Jim nodded to Mackland who stood and followed after Dean.

The preacher moved to where Sam was, inconspicuously slipping an arm around the boy. "Sometimes it helps the most to help another," he said softly.

Sam wasn't sure what Jim meant, but he leaned into the man's embrace, tried to reclaim some of the warmth that had escaped him. He wished they were alone so he could talk to the preacher. The presence of the others kept him restrained and silent. Sam let his fingers settle on Scout's head, wrap in the Lab's soft hair instead, settling for Jim's proximity for now.

The pastor seemed to understand his turmoil. He squeezed his shoulder before addressing the others. "We'll begin the search before first light."

"I'll take Bobby and Harland with me." Dad looked at Jim. "There's no reason for everyone to be involved. There won't be a threat from the werewolf."

"You going to be the one to explain that to Mackland?" Bobby asked with a snort. "Because I'm sure as hell not going to back you up on it."

Sam watched his father. Dad wasn't one to back down or negotiate-ever. He gave orders. That was his job.

Dad crossed his arms over his chest. "You think it's a good idea for him to go?"

Bobby copied his father's body language. "I think he'll knock you on your ass if you suggest otherwise."

Dad shook his head. "Damn it, Bobby. You know he shouldn't be there."

"Neither should you!"

Sam expected his father to protest, but instead he only appeared to deflate, his arms dropping loosely to his side, shoulders sagging.

Bobby sighed. "Hell, as far as that goes neither should I."

"Joshua and I can go," Harland stated. Both Dad and Bobby glared at him.

The elder Sawyer raised his hands in submission. "It was merely a thought."

"I'm coming too," Ian added. "I have a right."

"What you have is an obligation to follow orders." John turned on Ian, his usual gruffness returning. "You're staying here. Do you understand me?"

Sam tensed. Jim again squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Ian was glaring at his father with murder in his blue eyes. Sam could see his fists were clinched tight, his arms shook slightly. After a tense moment, Hastings nodded sharply. "Yes, Sir."

"Good."

Ian cut his eyes to Harland who glanced away. Sam had a sudden sense of empathy for the older hunter. It wasn't like he had ever talked to Hastings; but the man had lost his older brother. It was something Sam feared everyday-losing Dean to a hunt. Now they had lost Caleb. The pain was worse than Sam imagined. He could barely breathe.

"I need some air." Ian echoed Sam's thoughts.

Ian turned towards the door. John's hand shot out, catching his shoulder. "I'm sorry about Rick."

Ian nodded, then hurried on. He pulled the door open to reveal a woman Sam didn't recognize. The teen didn't know who looked more surprised, Ian or the pretty stranger.

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Esme had been about to knock, was steeling herself for the scene she imagined lay just beyond the door when her opportunity for composure was stolen. Ian Hastings nearly ran her over in his haste to exit.

"Mrs. Sawyer?" He steadied her with a hand on her arm. She forced a smile for his benefit. He knew as well as anyone she had not been 'Mrs. Sawyer' in years.

Ian was not her favorite of Joshua's friends, too much of Harland's influence evident in his manner and attitude towards hunting. But he had suffered a terrible loss. Her heart went out to him.

"Ian." She, reached out to squeeze his arm. There were no words.

Ian stepped back from her touch, but held the door for her. "Excuse me. I was on my way out," he said, curtly.

"Of course." Esme stepped inside, feeling all eyes on her.

"Mother?"

Her son's voice caught her attention instantly. She sought visual confirmation that he was unharmed. His phone call concerning the hunt gone terribly wrong had shaken her on several levels.

"Joshua." She smiled, resisting the urge to cross to him, touch him. He was a man in a room full of his peers. In a room with his father.

"What are you doing here, Esme?" Speak of the devil.

Esme turned and met Harland's icy blue gaze with an unflinching calm. "I'm here because of what happened to Rick and Caleb." She glanced around the room, hoping to see Mackland's face. The doctor was nowhere in sight. "I'm here for my friend."

She imagined the doctor needed one in the worst kind of way. This aspect of their relationship was new. They were still more friends than anything else. But she and Mackland had shared things, understood one another on a level most people would never be privy to in the 'normal' world. She hoped she was not being presumptuous; but she imagined he would have returned the gesture if God forbid something ever happened to Joshua. The man had lost his son; there would be nothing she could imagine more horrible.

"Isn't the winter solstice upon us? Shouldn't you be burning sage and dancing sky-clad in a field with your coven friends?"

Harland's insult brought her attention back to him. Esme had the overwhelming urge to slap the condescending smirk from his smug face. It was a desire that came often on the rare occasion she found herself in close quarters with the man. He loved to make light of her crafting, and knew better than most why she had never been loyal to a coven. Harland was a bastard; but he was still Joshua's father.

Jim Murphy kindly spared her a reply by stepping forward and taking her hand. "Your presence here is always a breath of fresh air, my dear. Mackland is upstairs. He should be down soon. Would you like to take a cup of tea in the sitting room?"

"I don't want to intrude." Esme glanced around at the hunters again, this time making it a point of meeting John Winchester's gaze. Her father had been The Knight. She understood protocol very well.

Perhaps she shouldn't have come. It was more awkward than she had imagined. Her only thoughts had been of Mackland and his loss. Of Joshua, too. She wanted to help, to somehow offer comfort. But now, she wondered if she had not stepped over some invisible bounds.

"You're not." John spoke, surprising her. He could have just as easily asked her to leave, and she would have done so. "Thank you for coming. Mackland will appreciate it." His deep voice was sincere, holding a gentleness she had not noted in their previous encounters. She suspected he was in a great deal of pain, too. He had lost someone he loved.

Esme smiled gratefully up at him, then looked to Jim. "Tea would be nice."

Jim glanced at the young dark-haired boy at his side. "Samuel, would you mind?"

Esme shifted her attention to the teen. He was all legs and self-conscious posture. She remembered Joshua at that age, couldn't keep the wistful smile from her face. Esme had not had the pleasure of meeting either of John Winchester's children, but knew Samuel was one of them.

Mackland had spoken of both boys often with great affection. He wasn't exaggerating when he said Sam was his father's son. "If you'll show me where Pastor Jim keeps things, Sam, I'd be glad to help."

Sam ducked his head, his long bangs falling across his eyes. Esme resisted the motherly urge to reach out and sweep them off his face. The teen shrugged. "Sure." Sam gestured to the cabinets on the other end of the room. "This way."

Esme squeezed Jim's hand before following Sam. She smiled at her son as she passed. Joshua joined them.

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Sam knew Joshua had a mother. He'd heard the blond hunter mention her before; but he had never imagined her as a real person. She was pretty. She seemed a lot nicer than her son, Sam thought as the woman hugged Joshua once they were away from the other hunters.

"Mother, why on earth did you come here?"

Esme stepped away from Joshua, brushing her fingers through the hair across his forehead before briefly resting a hand on his cheek. "I wanted to see if you were okay, and I think I explained myself earlier."

She glanced at Sam, then focused once more on Josh. "How is Mackland?"

"I haven't spoken with him," Joshua replied. "We've not been back from Tennessee for long."

"I see." Esme turned to Sam, smiling. Sam liked her smile. "Shall we make the good doctor a cup of tea? I believe he likes his with cream and sugar."

Sam nodded. He pried his eyes off the woman long enough to retrieve a canister from the top cabinet. Esme was a novelty.

In many ways 'mother' was one of those abstract concepts for Sam. Like air, hope and the Pythagorean Formula. He knew they existed; but wasn't really able to identify them with something tangible. A mother's actions and mannerisms were only as authentic to him as Carol Brady from re-runs of the Brady Bunch and Clair Huxtable of the Cosby Show.

There were no corporeal mothers in his small world. Dean was the closest it came. Sure his friends at school had moms, but Sam had grown-up with only men for role models. Caleb didn't have a mother. Neither did Jim, Mac, or Bobby. It suddenly struck Sam as very strange. The idea of a mother was more of a fairytale to him than the wicked witch or the boogeyman in the closet.

"Will you be joining us, Sam?" Esme asked when Sam offered her the tea.

The teen shook his head. "No thanks." As curious as he was, he was even more uncomfortable. It was odd to have so many strangers in Jim's house, his home. He wouldn't be sure as to what he was supposed to say or how he was supposed to act.

Esme touched his shoulder. "Are you sure? I'm quite the connoisseur of tea. Just ask Joshua."

Sam nodded. He removed two cups from the cupboard, then placed them on saucers. He reached for the tea kettle.

"You shouldn't have come, Mother," Joshua continued. "I told you I was unharmed. You could have waited until the funeral to pay your respects."

Sam fumbled at the word 'funeral,' the kettle nearly slipping from his fingers as he managed to turn the water on. His momentary awe at having an actual live woman at the farm had momentarily taken his mind from the harsh reality surrounding her visit. His thoughts went to Caleb. He felt his eyes burn.

"Joshua," Esme reprimanded. "Do not be disrespectful."

To Sam's surprise Sawyer's face flushed. He shifted his blue eyes to the teen. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean that to sound so harsh. I'm sorry about Caleb. Truly."

Sam didn't reply. Joshua often said worse things and rarely apologized. Bobby said he was born with foot and mouth disease.

"I wanted to help," Esme said softly. She took the kettle from Sam, her fingers brushing lightly against his hand. "Although I know there's not a lot I can do at a time like this. No one can, I'm afraid."

"You should go," Joshua insisted. "As you've pointed out, there's nothing you can do."

Sam caught the faint scent of flowers and vanilla as Joshua's mother breezed past him to collect the cream. Esme smelled nice. Sam liked the soft tinkling of her voice. It reminded him of Mrs. Collins, one of his favorite teachers in school. "Mackland's upstairs." Sam informed her, although he was sure if Jim had already told her. She wouldn't want to leave without seeing the doctor first.

Again she smiled at him. "Would you like to take a cup up to him?"

Sam shook his head. "He'll want to see you."

Sam didn't flinch when Joshua's mother proficiently brushed his hair from his eyes with a gentle sweep of her fingers. "That's very sweet of you to say, Sam."

"Yes. So sweet," Joshua growled.

Esme raised a defined brow at her son. Again the blond hunter looked instantly contrite. "If you're going to stay perhaps I should help you off with your coat and scarf, Mother."

The woman's smile was back. Sam felt instantly better as she beamed at him again. "I've always taught Joshua that manners are extremely important."

Sam thought Esme would be very disappointed if she knew how her son typically behaved. He wasn't about to tell her. "I can take your things in the study for you," he offered. His father had taught him manners, too. "And I'll tell Mac that you're here."

Sam ignored the fact Joshua was rolling his eyes at him as he helped Esme remove her jacket. "I see Joshua isn't the only one that knows how to treat a lady."

Sam ducked his head and moved quickly to turn on the stove. He placed the kettle to boil before reaching out for her coat and scarf. "The sugar is in the far cabinet," Sam offered as he backed out of the room. "There's vanilla in there, too."

"We're quite capable of finding it," Joshua said. "But you've been very helpful."

If Esme noticed her son's snide tone, she didn't let on. "Yes. Thank you, Sam."

Sam nodded once more and went in search of Mac and his brother. Maybe having a mother at the farm would make Dean feel better, too. Even if she did belong to Joshua.

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Mackland waited in the hallway until he could no longer hear Dean's suffering. He told himself he didn't want to embarrass the boy; but honestly he was terrified to enter the room. It was something he had avoided. Dean was a bigger man than he.

Finally unable to prolong it any further, Mackland entered his son's bedroom. "Dean." He turned on the small lamp near the door, foregoing flooding the area with the overhead light.

Mackland couldn't help but to glance at the oak desk Jim had bought not long after Caleb had come to live with the doctor. It contained a few pictures, one of his son's grandmother, and a shot of Caleb, Dean and Sam from a few summers before. But what caught his eye and briefly halted his heart were the model bridge and the old sketchbook. Mackland felt the walls closing in on him.

Mackland felt a coward, but his need to seek out Dean overrode his own fear. After all, Caleb would never forgive him if he didn't at least try to offer the younger boy some kind of comfort. It would be just like his son to believe the impossible of him.

Mackland cleared his throat. "May I come in?"

Dean quickly brushed the back of his arm over his eyes. He straightened his broad shoulders, cleared his throat and nodded a silent response.

Mackland moved forward, taking a deep breath to clear his head to get his blood flowing again. The room smelled like Caleb. It caused his eyes to sting, his chest to tighten. He faltered, but tried to focus his attention on Dean. The doctor wasn't ready to deal with anything else. "I thought I might find you here."

Dean looked down at his hands. Mac noticed the book he was holding.

"I wanted to be alone."

His voice was laced with emotion. The doctor was taken back to the first time he met a five-year-old Dean. Jim had asked him to talk to John Winchester's son. Mackland hadn't been quite sure what to expect. He knew only factual details. The child had been traumatized by watching his mother burn to death on the ceiling. He hadn't spoken to anyone but his baby brother and his father, but only in direct response to questions.

All those years ago, he'd looked into those hurt-filled green eyes feeling by the despair reflected in one so young. He could comprehend what Dean was feeling. He lost his own mother at birth. Mackland was cheated of the chance to know her, therefore spared the pain of losing her.

But Mackland _knew_ Caleb. He loved him with a fierceness he never imagined himself capable of. It was ironic. Now, Mackland understood all too well the pain swimming in Dean's eyes. They shared the same grief.

The doctor exhaled heavily, took a seat on the bed ignoring Dean's wishes. He couldn't leave yet. Caleb might be watching. "It seems like he should be here." He gestured around them. "Everything reminds me that he's not."

The younger hunter glanced up at him with red-rimmed eyes, remaining silent.

Mackland pointed to the book, specifically to the playing card peeking out at the top, marking a place in The Three Musketeers. "Has he ever told you why he calls you Deuce?" Mackland slid the card out, ran his fingers respectfully over the black spade.

Dean shook his head. "He's done it forever." He lifted one shoulder let it fall with a huff. "Figured he was just making fun of Dad calling me Ace."

Mackland smiled sadly. "I can assure you it had nothing to do with your Dad, Dean." The doctor sighed. "The first time I heard him call you that…I knew he would be alright."

"You see, I had been with him for almost a year and even though he seemed to be doing well, adapting, I worried he was still on some invisible edge. At any minute he could tumble over, out of my reach. Then there was that Christmas when your father and you boys came here to the farm. We spent it together." Mackland raised a brow. "Remember?"

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Dean remembered all too well. It was the first memory of a Christmas. It wasn't a happy one, not really. Those came later. When Sam was older-when they were closer to Jim and the others. But that first time was significant for Dean and Caleb.

"I remember."

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December 1984

_**"Jim put stockings by your bed." Caleb gestured to the red and white striped socks hooked on the knobs of the nightstand. **_

"Yep." Dean gave them a quick glance. He wasn't concerned with the stockings. He was thinking of his true Christmas wish.

Caleb sighed. "Oh, kid, don't go there."

Dean frowned in puzzlement. "I'm not going anywhere."

Reaves brushed his hand through his hair. "Santa's not going to bring your mom back."

Dean lifted his head, propping himself up on his elbows. "You don't know that." The boy said quietly, gripping a piece of Sam's pajama tightly. Santa was going to bring his mother back.

"Once you lose someone, they don't come back. It didn't work last year." Caleb turned so he was facing the five-year-old. "Look, kid, I know. When my mom and dad died I went to live with my grandmother. She was good to me, but she wasn't my mom and dad." 

_**"You're lucky kid; at least you got your dad." Reaves cleared his throat. **_

Dean looked away, and let go of his brother's pajamas. "There's no such thing as Santa Claus, is there?"

Caleb shoulders dropped in relief. "No, but you're not surprised."

Dean shook his head. He smiled down at his brother. "But, Sammy believes in Santa."

"Yeah, I can see that." Caleb said. Sam was cuddled close to him. He returned his gaze back to Dean. "Hey, why are you talking to me?"

Dean lay down once more on his side, facing the teen and his brother. "'cause you're a kid, like me."

Caleb snorted. "Dude, I'm gonna be 14 in a week. I'm so not a kid."

The five-year-old nodded. He closed his eyes, then opened his eyes again. "What happened to your family?

Reaves exhaled sharply. "It's not a bed time story, Mac'll kill me."

"You can tell me." Dean perked up. "I won't say anything. I promise."

"Yeah, I get that you can be trusted to stay quiet." Caleb paused. "I swear, you say anything it will be like the Godfather all over again."

"Who's the godfather?"

Caleb shook his head. "Never mind." Reaves placed a hand over his mouth, then dropped it. "I don't like to talk about them. . ."

Dean reached out a hand, brushing it against Caleb's arm, prompting him to continue. "My mom, she was beautiful, and my dad, he was tall and strong. He didn't smile a lot. We had this house by the water. I liked it. Mom and Dad were fighting and something happened to my Dad." Caleb looked up. "I hate the ocean now—it makes me sick."

Dean understood. "I don't want to go home either. I think maybe your mom and my mom would have been friends."

"Maybe." Caleb smiled. "Get some sleep, I'll take this watch."  


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"Caleb told me there wasn't a Santa Claus."

Mackland frowned. "He what?"

The doctor looked taken aback, as if his memories and Dean's were in direct violation of one another. "It was for my own good." Dean looked at the doctor. "I was being a stupid kid-wanted Santa to bring Mom back. I thought she'd be waiting under the tree. Caleb told me people didn't come back from being dead. Not even on Christmas."

Ames sighed, ran a finger over his brow. "Caleb knew what you were thinking."

"Yeah." Dean shrugged his shoulders again. "He told me how it was."

"He knew from experience."

"Yeah. He knew." Things had changed for Dean after that. Caleb had given him a safe outlet, someone on his own level to talk to. Sammy was only a baby then, but Reaves was a kid, despite the fact in his own mind fourteen was closer to an adult than to a five-year-old. Suddenly the idea of losing that connection had Dean reeling, grasping for that little boy faith again. "What if he's not dead, Mac?"

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Mackland winced. "You don't want to believe he's dead, Dean." It was a trick of the mind, a protection device. Denial. The first stage of grief.

Dean's fingers grasped his sleeve. "Maybe he's hurt and lost out there somewhere and …"

"Son…" That word was painful to say. Mac tasted bitter regret as the sound of it registered. How many times had he used that tone with Caleb? "I don't think we should…"

"What?" Dean snapped. "Give him the benefit of the doubt?"

"Harland and Bobby found Caleb's and Rick's things covered in blood. Caleb's shirt was…" Mackland didn't want to think what had happened to his son. The pictures that sprang to mind were torturous. Dean should be spared the gory details. "It didn't bode well for survival."

"That doesn't mean he's dead. Caleb's beat the odds before. Jim says he has more lives than a cat."

"Then where is he, Dean?" Mackland sounded more weary than angry, although frustration was nipping away at his reserves. "A werewolf doesn't leave its victims alive unless it wants to infect them. You heard Bobby. The moon has moved to another phase. That isn't the case here."

"How do you know?" Dean continued. Mackland was sure the boy had been pondering the idea for awhile. "Have you tried to sense him?"

"Do you mean have I tried to find his body?"

The teen nodded.

Mac sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I've tried." Bobby had brought him Caleb's destroyed pack including the silver flask Bobby had given him on his eighteenth birthday. No images came-no life energy. Only empty darkness. "But nothing comes to me. It's like my abilities have shut down."

Dean looked heartsick. "But you've had a shock."

"Yes. We all have."

"That can affect your abilities."

There was still hope laced in the boy's voice. He was grasping at straws. Mackland recognized it instantly, having heard the same tone from many loved ones praying for one last connection to those they had lost. "I know. That's what my head tells me, but my heart is pretty pissed that I can find other people's children at the drop of a hat, but I can't find my own son."

Dean glanced down at the book he was holding. "You think it's because he's dead? You're blocking it."

"Yes. I believe that could be why."

Dean looked up at him, eyes shimmering with held back tears. "Is that your heart or your head talking, Mackland?"

Mac wasn't sure how to answer. As a doctor he had always been wary of giving false hope, but now when it came to his own son, he could not bring himself to be so clinical.

God. He wanted to latch onto Dean's train of thought. He wanted to hold out until the very last bit of hope was torn away. Only the inevitable would be delayed, inhibiting healing. It would prevent him for being there for Dean and Sam. Something he could not deny his son. Not even to ease his suffering.

He handed the card to Dean, resting his fingers briefly on the boy's hair. "He loved you Dean. Like the brother he was robbed of. And what you two had, the bond you shared, that will never die."

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_**December 1984**_

_**  
"Five more minutes,"Caleb mumbled. Dean watched his brother wipe a hand down the teenager's face. Finally he grabbed Sam's hand. "What?" Sam Winchester smiled above him, wiggling his hand out of Caleb's grip. **_

Dean sat cross-legged on the bed, his stocking in his lap. There was a red apple, an orange and a super bouncy ball. He had been awake for awhile, entertaining Sammy with the orange.

With a groan Caleb propped himself up. His stocking had been placed on his chest by Pastor Jim during the night. "Shit," he uttered.

"Not supposed to use bad words around Sammy." Dean warned.

Caleb waved him off, then dumped the contents of his stocking. There was a pear, banana and some walnuts. "This sucks, want to trade?"

Dean shook his head. He didn't want the fruit, but the bouncy ball was cool. He climbed down from the bed, and reached for his brother, sitting him down with the stuffed lamb.

In a moment Caleb had closed his eyes, so Dean shook his arm. 

_**"What?" **_

Dean handed him a package of peanut M & M's. "Dad bought them for me on the ride over. You can have them. Mrs. Morris says I know how to share."

Caleb smiled. "You're not too bad Deuce."

Dean scrunched up his face. "My Dad calls me Ace." He corrected the teenager.

Reaves swung his legs over, and stood up. He tussled Dean's hair. "You're Deuce to me."  


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Dean took the card, blinking to keep the tears from falling. The black spades of the deuce card blurred out of focus, he swallowed against the growing lump clogging his throat. "I don't want memories, Mac. I want him to come back."

The weight of the doctor's stare was tangible. The grief was immense, a bulking presence between them. Dean forced himself to face The Scholar.

Mackland glanced away. "Get some rest, Dean."

The doctor turned and made his way to the adjoining door of their rooms. Dean caught site of Sam, leaning in the entranceway. Mackland pulled the teen in for a brief hug as he passed. Dean heard Mac's words as he glanced over his shoulder. "Watch over your brother, Samuel. He needs you."

"Dean?" Sam stepped hesitantly into Caleb's room.

"Go way, Sam." Dean put the card back into the book, tossing it on the bed beside him. "I'm fine."

"But…"Sam looked so unsure. A part of Dean wanted to talk to the kid, offer some kind of comfort. But Dean didn't have anything left to give at the moment.

"I mean it, Sam. Get out of here." He put as much heat in his words as he could manage. He would not break down in front of his kid brother. Sam didn't need that.

"What if it wasn't a werewolf?"

"What?" Dean shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"The thing that they were hunting. They thought it was a werewolf, but it might not have been."

Dean exhaled, ran a hand over his face. "Sammy, I just want to be alone. Alright?"

Sam apparently took the softened tone as an invitation. He crossed the room, taking a seat on the bed beside Dean. "No. It's not alright. I believe you, Dean."

"Then prove it and scram."

"I believe Caleb's alive."

"Sam," Dean growled. "Just stop. Stop talking about him." It was a ridiculous idea. Mackland was right. Hearing Sam say it had him realizing how stupid and childish it sounded. He was only making things harder for everyone, himself included.

"I heard what you said to Mac."

Dean pushed off the bed, paced a few feet away before turning angrily back to his brother. "And did you hear what Mac said to me?"

"Yeah." Sam looked down, bit his lip. He glanced up again. "But I still believe you, Dean."

Dean shook his head. Sam would believe donkeys flew if Dean told him so. "Why? Because I'm your big brother?"

"Yes."

The answer was heartening, but it did little to help Dean feel better. "That's not really a valid reason, tiny Einstein."

"Caleb always says I should trust my feelings." He pulled his shoulders back and looked his brother square in the eye. "I don't feel like he's dead, Dean. Something tells me I would if he were gone."

"Yeah." Dean felt the anger return three fold. Some of it directed at Sam, but most of it reserved for the one person who couldn't argue back-Caleb. "But dead is dead. You're a rookie. Trust me; you'll recognize it the next time it comes around."

Sam's frown grew. "I felt like there was a big empty hole when Atticus died." He touched his chest. "This is different. I just feel scared and worried. Like we should be doing something."

Dean swallowed. He hated the look on his little brother's face. Sam related Caleb's death to a dog. They all cared deeply for Atticus, but it didn't begin to compare to what they would go through in the following months. "You should be scared, Sam. Death takes everything you have."

Sam tilted his head. Dean recognized the stubborn set to his jaw. "Pastor Jim says we haven't lost everything until we lose hope."

"Pastor Jim is sending Dad to get Caleb's _body, _Sam." Dean moved to stand in front of his brother once more. "What the hell does that tell you about how much hope he has?"

Sam clenched his fists. "I'm not going to give up on Caleb and I'm not going to let you either."

"Hey, knock yourself out. Wasn't it just last week you were making out your list for Santa?"

Sam shook his head sadly. "He would never give up on you."

"Really?" Dean tightened his jaw. "A lot of good that does me now, huh?"

Sam stared at his brother for a moment before pushing past him, slamming the door behind him.

Dean sat down on the bed, letting his head rest in his hands once more. "Damn you, Damien."

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Chapter 3-Coming December 15


	3. Chapter 3

All is Well

Chapter 3

Beta: Tidia

A/N: I have always liked the Season one episode Wendigo; and wondered how Dean and Sam came to know what they did about the creature. The look they exchange when Hailey asked how her brother could still be alive got me to thinking…and part of this story was inspired by that. Thanks to Tidia, big thanks, especially since this part ended up being almost 27 pages long. Something I had not planned. She sacrificed a snowy evening in to Beta. Thanks to everyone else who has reviewed and commented. I hope this extra-long chapter is as good as a reply.

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Mackland slowly made his way down the stairs that led into the living room. He had every intention of escaping to the library to collect himself before entering the kitchen once more. Listening to the hunters discuss their plans to recover bodies was taking a toll. He never felt more the outsider than he did now. A soft voice and the smell of a familiar perfume stopped him.

"Mackland?"

The doctor turned, blinking to be sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. But Esme Madrigal remained, standing by the small couch in the parlor. His heart quickened.

"Esme?"

She tilted her head, frowning slightly. "Didn't Sam tell you I was here?"

"No." Mackland slowly crossed the space between them. "He had other things on his mind I'm afraid."

"Of course." Esme stepped closer. "I'm sure you all do."

"What are you doing here?" Mackland hadn't considered the fact that Joshua might call his mother or that she would make the trip to Kentucky.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright." She rested her hand on his arm. "I know that was a foolish thought. Of course you're not alright. How could you be."

Mackland swallowed thickly. Esme was looking at him with such compassion. He'd seen that expression cast upon victims so many times. Having it directed at him was painfully humbling. "I'm not quite sure how I am." Numbness had set in. Nothing seemed quite real. Although he knew it soon would.

"That's understandable." She took a seat on the sofa, gestured to two cups of tea steaming on the table. "I made you some tea."

Mackland sank wearily to the couch, clasping his hands in front of him to make sure they didn't shake. He fought to keep the tremble from his deep voice. "Tell me it has some of your inspired ingredients in it."

"Are you asking me if I doctored your drink, Doctor?" Esme played along with the poor attempt at levity, lifted a brow before claiming her own cup of tea from the table.

"I wouldn't object if you did."

"Chamomile and calendula was all I could find in Jim's spice rack. So it isn't a witch's brew; but it should have a calming effect."

Mackland had only been half serious. The fact she had made an effort was touching-her wry humor endearing. He picked up the saucer. "At this point I don't even believe anything in my medical bag would have much effect." He tried to reciprocate with a smile, his face feeling as pliable as lead. "But thank you."

"I'm so sorry, Mackland. I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through."

Mackland took a drink of the tea, choosing not to look at her face, a pleasure he usually could not resist. "I hope you never have to experience it."

There was a heavy silence before she spoke again. "Joshua explained about the hunt. Is there a chance that Harland and the others could have missed something?"

Mackland was surprised. Esme was logical and grounded, despite the air of mystery surrounding her. Their minds were wired similarly. She treated her crafting as he did his abilities, a tool. It was one of the things he enjoyed about their friendship. "Now you sound like Dean."

"John's oldest son?"

The doctor nodded. "He's not taking this well."

"You said he and Caleb were very close."

Mackland took another gulp of the tea, hoping the hot liquid would dissolve the mass lodged in his throat. "Yes."

"As a Guardian and Knight should be."

Ames nodded. It was strange that those on the outskirts of The Brotherhood knew Jim's plans, when those it effected most were kept in the dark. It was not spoken of by The Triad. "I suppose."

"I remember my father and Julian were inseparable. Mother often joked that she married both the groom and the best man on the day of her wedding." Esme sighed. "I'm not sure who was more devastated when Father died, Mother or Julian. He was never the same"

"Dean is holding out hope that Caleb is still out there." Mackland ran a finger over his brow. "I can't blame him for wanting to believe that but I don't want to see him hurt further." Mackland didn't want to be hurt either.

"You better than most understand how cruel hope can be sometimes."

"Unfortunately." He took a deep breath, summoned the courage to meet her understanding gaze. "I've always found it so easy to discount until now. I've seen parents refuse to believe reports of their child's death until they were holding the cold body themselves." Mackland cleared his throat. "Even then, I've had some swear that it wasn't too late for a miracle."

"Miracles do happen." Esme squeezed his arm. "Everyday."

Mackland turned his body so he was facing her, their knees touching. "I want to believe my son is alive, Esme. I've never wanted anything more. I want it more than I wanted to walk and talk again after my accident. I would gladly give my life if I could just hear his voice or see him walk through that door. I brought him into this life…"

Esme's eyes glistened with tears. "I'm so sorry, Mackland."

He cleared his throat. "It doesn't seem real. It's as if I am watching it take place from another plane. It seems to be happening to someone else All of this…" Mackland gestured around the room. He suddenly had a great understanding for how Caleb described his visions. How he was an unseen voyeur in a poor soul's nightmare. "It seems as if it is some bizarre dream state." He covered her hand with his, held onto her tightly. "I just want someone to wake me up."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Dean woke with a gasp to find Sam leaning over him. His brother's hands were on his shoulders.

"You were dreaming," Sam said softly. The teen sat down, keeping his fingers entwined in his brother's shirt. "Are you okay?"

Scout leaped up on the bed. The dog whined, her tail thumping against the mattress. Dean rubbed his eyes. "Yeah." He looked blearily around the room. Caleb's room. Oppressive grief lighted on his chest once more finding perch like a cement raven. He might have been awake, but the nightmare was ongoing. "What time is it?"

"Early." Sam removed his touch, motioned to the window where Dean could see it was still dark. "Dad and the others just left."

"Damn." Dean fought his way to his feet. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. Hours had passed. "I wanted to go with them."

"Dad would have said no. He wouldn't let Ian go either."

Dean met his brother's unwanted empathetic gaze. "I'm not Ian."

Sam blinked. "He lost a brother, too."

Dean moved away from the teen and dog, needing to distance himself from what they were trying to offer. "Why are you awake?"

"I haven't been asleep." Sam held up a yellow legal notepad. "I've been doing research down in The Hunter's Tomb."

"Sam." Dean ran a hand over his hair. "Let it go."

"Did you know throughout the years Wendigos have been mistaken for werewolves?"

Dean might as well have been ordering the wall to stop holding up the house. Sam completely ignored his request. "Wendi…what?"

"A Wendigo." Sam's eyes momentarily lost their tired glaze. "It's a creature of super strength, speed, and cunning. Legends say it starts out as human…and then morphs after it consumes human flesh. You find mention of them in a lot of Indian mythology, especially the Algonquin and Cree tribal lore."

Dean held up his hand. "Sam, why are you giving me the history lesson? It's five o'clock in the fucking morning." And Caleb's dead.

"Because Dean, I found them mentioned in several of the old hunters' journals. In Julian Smith's and Maxim Madrigal's journals-the former Triad. The Brotherhood has dealt with them before. I mean they're not usually this far east, but the Appalachian Mountains would be the perfect terrain for them, especially if one needed a fresh hunting ground to gather enough food to hibernate."

"Hibernate?"

Sam nodded. "Julian's journal told about how the Wendigo seek refuge for years at a time. But when they're awake, they're always hungry. It's one of the curses of their condition."

Dean's muddied mind was finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "And you think that maybe Caleb and the others were hunting one of these Wendigo and just _thought_ it was a werewolf?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. That's exactly what I think."

"Come on, Sammy." Dean crossed to stand in front of his brother again. "That's a long shot. This is Bobby and Caleb we're talking about here. They would know the difference."

"But they weren't on the hunt from the beginning." Sam stood. "I heard Dad and Bobby talking when they thought I'd gone to bed. Harland started the hunt. When the moon began to phase out, he and the others hadn't turned up anything; Pastor Jim called in back-up. Bobby and Caleb had just finished up a hunt of their own. They wouldn't have had a chance to research."

"They were doing clean-up." Dean ran a hand over his mouth. Jim obviously didn't think Harland could handle the job. It was Sawyer's ineptitude that dragged Caleb into this mess. "They went in with second-hand intel."

"Something Dad tells us never to do."

"Okay, so you think Caleb was taken out by this psychotic cannibal instead of a flea-infested wolfie?" Dean didn't want to even think about what that meant for his friend. Was there such thing as a more preferable death? "How the hell is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Dean, Wendigo don't kill their victims right away," Sam explained patiently. "They _store_ them so they can have a food source on hand. It likes to feed off of live prey."

Dean frowned. "Are you sure?" He felt the lead weight momentarily lift,the fluttering of hope in its wake. "This isn't one of your 'educated' guesses, is it?"

Sam shook his head. "Julian and Maxim found two living victims. Think about it, Dean. It would make sense that a lot of people have been disappearing from the woods-campers and hikers with no bodies to show for it. That's not a typical werewolf pattern."

"And these Wendigos are smart?" Dean took his brother's notes. He deciphered the scribbles, reminiscent of his father's writing. "They think like a human?"

"They're almost perfect hunters. Not just instinctual like a werewolf," Sam clarified. "I think it could be smart enough to plant a false trail, maybe even intentionally make itself look like a werewolf."

Dean met his brother's gaze. It seemed like such a long shot. But anything was better than reality at the moment. "You think it might have left Caleb's and Rick's things to lead the others away?" He winced at the almost pleading tone to his voice.

If Sam picked up on the desperation; he was kind enough to let it slide. "Yeah. They've been known to mimic people's voices to lead other victims into a trap. Why not cover their trails? They have all the advantages of their human side plus the supernatural qualities they developed over the years of cannibalism. "

"Damn." Dean ran his hand over his mouth. "You really think this thing could be holding Caleb and Rick for snack time?" Three days. Caleb had been missing three days.

"It would make sense. Werewolves usually only take the heart and internal organs. If that's what took Rick and Caleb then where's the rest of them?"

Dean exhaled at his brother's candor. Sometimes the kid was too analytical. "And you didn't tell Dad or Bobby about this?" Sam shook his head. "Not even Jim?" Dean asked.

The kid shrugged. "I didn't think they would believe me. Dad wouldn't even talk to me before he left."

Dean looked over the notes again, the grasping talons of hope taking better hold. "What's it take to kill one?"

Sam moved closer to him. "You believe me?"

"I believe what you said about Caleb not giving up on us." Dean handed the notes back to the teen. "So you better tell me what we need to take this bastard out. We're not going in unprepared."

Sam's tentative smile faltered. "The journal was vague on that point. Silver stake to its heart is the most common theory. But steel and iron could work, too. Fire is another way."

"You did real good, Sammy."

Sam glanced down at the floor before looking back up to his brother. "It only counts if we find Caleb alive."

Dean squeezed his shoulder. "I still appreciate it; and so would Damien." He glanced around the room. They would not only need a plan for the Wendigo, but a course of action to get on the road. "Who's left in the house?"

"Jim's resting in his room. And I think Esme is staying in the room that Missouri uses."

Dean's frowned. "Esme?"

Sam's grin returned. "Josh's mom."

"What the hell is she doing here?" In Dean's book any Sawyer was one too many.

"She came to check on Mac." Sam shrugged. "She's nice."

"Nice?" Dean snorted. "She was married to Harland. She gave birth to Joshua."

"Mac likes her and she likes him." Sam was pensive for a minute. "If they got married, Josh would be Mac's son. Would we have to like him then?"

Dean glared at his brother. "Mac already has a son." There was no way in hell Joshua Sawyer would take Caleb's place. Over Dean's dead body. He folded his arms across his chest. "And nothing could make me like Josh."

"He's still here, too," Sam pointed out. "And Ian."

"Do you know where they are?"

Sam shook his head. "Ian went towards the barn earlier, but I haven't seen Joshua."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and he's crawled back under the rock he came from."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

"Where do you two think you're going?"

The casual question from the dark recesses of Jim's front porch stopped Dean in his tracks. Dean didn't think he or Sam would have a problem sneaking off. They had left Scout in their bed, making it out of the house without alerting the pastor or his guests.

Joshua Sawyer was truly the last person he expected to encounter.

Dean turned slowly, eyeing the blond hunter as he stood up from one of the rocking chairs. "It's early to be out for a stroll isn't it, boys? The sun has yet to rise."

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. The oldest Winchester faced off with Sawyer. "It's none of your damn business where we're going." Dean wasn't about to let Joshua keep him and Sam from checking his brother's theory. Sam had thrown him a rope, kept him from going under. Dean was positive Caleb's life was hanging in the balance.

Joshua lifted his chin smugly. "Your father made it my business."

"Dad left _you_ in charge?" Dean shook his head, started for the steps again. There was no way his father would do that, even in his current state of mind. "I don't think so." Joshua was a damn liar.

Joshua's quick move was agile like a cat as he blocked Dean and Sam's path, stepping off of the front steps ahead of them. He held his hands out, a slight look of desperation crossing his features. "He said you and Sam were to stay at the farm and out of the hunt."

That sounded more like it. John probably threatened Joshua. "If you must know, we're going for breakfast. Now back off."

Joshua crooked a brow. "With a loaded duffel and weapons? What do you take me for?"

"We're Winchesters. Gear and guns are as run of the mill as shirt and shoes." Dean smirked, throwing the duffel over his shoulder. "And do you really want to know what I think of you, Josh?"

Sawyer refused to move. "You're going to Tennessee."

"Step aside." The older hunter was really beginning to piss him off.

"Think about this." Joshua jutted his chin towards Sam. "Do you really want him to see what you're likely to find out there? Do you want that to be _your_ last memory?" Sawyer reached out and caught Dean's arm. "There's nothing you can do."

Dean glared down at the hand holding his jacket, then refocused his fiery gaze on the blond. Sawyer was smart enough to remove his touch. "We can bring Caleb home."

The older hunter rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Your father is trying to spare you, Dean. Trust me it's not a task you should be dealing with."

"We're bringing Caleb back alive," Sam said.

Dean glanced at his little brother. Sam had the folded topical map and two journals clasped against his chest. Jim would freak when he found out they removed them from The Tomb. But there wasn't time to copy everything they might need. "Let's go, Sam."

"I'm sure you wish that were the case." Joshua looked at the thirteen-year-old. "I can understand that. But Caleb is gone. The only thing you'll be bringing home is his body."

"Shut up." Dean snarled.

Joshua took a step back, out of Dean's reach. "I know we've had our misunderstandings, that Reaves and I have never been on the best of terms, but I am not saying this to be cruel. On the contrary, I know for a fact that Caleb would not want either of you put in such a position."

"You don't know anything about Caleb."

"I beg to differ." Joshua inclined his head. "I understood him quite well when it came to you two."

Dean didn't like Joshua talking about Caleb. He remembered far too many times when the other hunter had belittled his friend, taunted him about his abilities and gotten him in trouble with their father. Sawyer's attempts to honor Caleb's proposed posthumous wishes were too much. "Don't make me move you, Sawyer." Dean dropped the duffel. He'd been itching to take his frustration out on something. "On second thought, do. Please do."

Sam moved onto the top step. He maneuvered himself in between the two-placing a hand on his brother's chest. "Dean don't." He faced Joshua. "We think Caleb and Rick are still alive."

Joshua stared at him. "That's not likely."

"Sam," Dean warned. They didn't owe Joshua Sawyer a fucking explanation. He'd quickly pound him into the dirt, then they'd be on their way.

The thirteen-year-old ignored his brother. "It is if you all weren't hunting a werewolf, Josh."

"Of course we were hunting a werewolf and it's Joshua. All the signs were there."

"Did you actually see it?" Sam questioned.

Dean exhaled heavily. His brother had to do things his way.

"No," Joshua replied. "But that's not unusual."

"Did you find the remains of any of the victims?"

"No."

"You can't tell us that's not odd." Dean interjected, backing his brother up. "Wolves leave a nasty mess."

Sam jumped in again before Joshua could respond. "And did you realize that the first missing hiker disappeared before the moon was in the correct phase for a werewolf to be involved?"

Dean watched Joshua's frown deepen. He had to give his brother credit for throwing that last bit of information. "My father did the research. I don't see him missing such a crucial detail."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. He understood all too well a son's need to believe in his father, but he also knew Joshua wasn't stupid. Harland Sawyer was no John Winchester. "You didn't look into any of it on your own, did you?"

"That wasn't my job on this particular hunt," Sawyer defended.

"A hunter is only as good as his intel," Sam spoke up again.

Joshua looked uncomfortable. Dean was certain the man knew exactly what Harland's strengths and weaknesses were and was pretty sure Joshua's father didn't ask his son's opinion on a hunt.

"If you insist on this nonsense, then you leave me no choice but to wake Jim."

"That's your answer." Dean clenched his fists. Joshua was an idiot. "You're going to rat us out?"

"Let's see, inform The Guardian of your foolhardy plan or face the rage of The Knight when he comes home to find his sons missing on my watch. I'm sorry, but there's no contest."

"What if you're wrong? What if Caleb and Rick are alive?" Sam turned on the puppy dog eyes. "You could keep us from saving them."

"I suggest you tell your theory to your father and Bobby when they return. Or better yet, you can go see Jim."

Before Dean or Sam had a chance to respond, Dean saw a flash of something in the gun-metal gray of morning light. There was a dull thud, then Joshua collapsed at their feet.

Dean barely had a chance to pull Sam out of the way as the blond hunter crumpled forward, landing in an unmoving heap at the base of the steps. "What the…"

"I always thought Joshua talked too damn much." Ian Hasting stepped into the porch light, brandishing a thick piece of firewood in his right hand.

"You knocked him out." Sam knelt next to Joshua, then glanced up to Hastings.

"You _are_ smart." Ian smirked. He bent beside the unmoving hunter, pulling a roll of duct tape from his pocket. "Excellent observation skills."

"Why?" Dean asked. He eyed Hastings warily, pulling Sam away from the man.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Winchester." Ian peeled a long piece of the tape from the silver roll, roughly wrapped it around Joshua's mouth, then used more tape to bind Sawyer's hands. Ian stood when he finished. "We'll have to take him with us. He's a loose end if he stays here."

"And just where do you think you're going?" Dean asked.

Ian propped his hands on his hips. "Not to breakfast."

"We didn't ask you for your help. And we don't need it." Dean didn't like the idea of working with Hastings. There was something off with the man. He was cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. Caleb had made Dean promise never to hunt with Ian or his buddy Fisher. The seventeen-year-old was beginning to understand why.

"I can just as easily report to Jim, look like the good little warrior."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You didn't answer my earlier question. Why the hell are you doing this?"

"I heard what you and the kid said about the werewolf. It sounds like you two have come up with something more optimistic than a recon mission for dead bodies."

"Are you going against Harland?"

Ian snorted. "Details have never been one of Harland Sawyer's strong points. Why do you think he hunts with Silas so much?"

"Have you heard of a Wendigo?" Sam asked. Dean felt like borrowing some of Ian's duct tape to keep his brother quiet.

Hastings momentarily studied the thirteen-year-old. "Aren't we a little far south for that?"

"Now who's being pessimistic," Dean chided.

Ian raised his hands in deference. "I'm just saying."

"There's no documentation that Wendigos limit themselves just to the Northwest." Sam looked from his brother to Ian.

Dean didn't know why his brother was asking for permission now, so he gestured for the teen to continue. Sam licked his lips, holding out the map so Ian could see it in the faint light.

"I've found at least two documented cases where Wendigos were found as far south as Florida. And there are extensive cave networks in and around the area where Caleb and Rick disappeared."

Ian raised a brow. "Yeah, but those are in the opposite direction of the trail we found, and not in the region from where the other victims disappeared."

"Exactly. Obviously the damn thing is smarter than Harland Sawyer." When Ian didn't comment Dean jutted his chin to the unconscious hunter. "So are we going to stand around and waste more time talking about theories or we going to get Caleb and Rick back?"

"You're driving." Ian bent down and levered Sawyer's deadweight. "My buddy Joshua calls the trunk."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

The drive to Tennessee was silent except for Sam pointing out the location of the caves he'd found on the topographical map, and Ian making a few comments about the area. Hastings spent the rest of the time reading the journals Sam brought, basically ignoring the Winchesters.

That suited Dean. He didn't like the other hunter. He wasn't about to trust him. Their joint venture was one of necessity, nothing else.

"Turn at the next right. There's a trailhead about two miles down the road."

Dean cut his eyes to Hastings. "You sure the others wouldn't have come in this way?"

"I'm not sure of anything. But I doubt they would have started this far west. Harland would have taken them to where we found the packs."

A loud banging reverberated through the Impala. Dean returned his eyes to the road. "Your buddy's awake."

"Good. If your kid brother's right about this thing being a Wendigo then we'll need the man power."

"Josh isn't going to want to help us," Sam said, leaning against the backseat.

"He won't have much of a choice," Ian replied. "He either helps us or we leave him taped up in the trunk."

Dean shook his head. "You're a real charmer, Hastings. Anyone ever told you that?"

"You'd rather I let him tattle to Pastor Jim?"

"I thought Josh was your friend?" Sam asked.

Ian laughed. "We grew up in the business together. His old man taught me a few things. Friends are a hindrance in our line of work, kid. You'll learn that soon enough."

"They come in handy if you need someone to watch your back." Dean didn't like Ian handing out advice to his brother. "It's against the rules to hunt alone."

"I don't usually find myself in situation where I need someone to watch my back." Ian turned his challenging gaze to Dean.

"What about your brother?" Sam asked

"Rick." Ian met the thirteen's questioning gaze with a flat stare. "What about him?"

"You two hunt together a lot?"

"Not really." Ian shrugged. "We have different philosophies about the job."

"He's your big brother, right?"

Ian glanced to Dean before looking at the youngest Winchester again. "He's older than me."

"Then he watches out for you."

"Like I told you; I watch out for myself."

"But…"

"Drop it, Sammy." Dean pulled the Impala off the road. He parked it behind one of the few cars lined at the trailhead. The less Sam interacted with Ian the sociopath, the better Dean would feel. At least the man was right about Harland. No familiar vehicles were there. "We've got work to do."

_RcJSnsnsnsNRcJ_

Dean popped the trunk, and glanced down at the red-faced hunter glaring back up at him. Joshua loudly mumbled something through the duct tape. "What was that?" Dean placed a hand alongside his own ear. "You trying to yell for Pastor Jim? We're a long ways from the farm."

Ian didn't give Winchester time to move before he roughly grabbed Sawyer by the jacket lapels. He yanked him from the car, manhandling him until Joshua was standing upright.

"It's what you get for being a fucking brownnoser, Joshua." Hastings ripped the tape from the blond hunter's mouth without warning. "You always were a goody-goody, making things harder than they had to be." Joshua had interfered with Ian's plans before and paid the price in one way or the other.

"You!" Joshua exclaimed. "You did this!"

Ian reached in his pocket, pulling out a knife which he used to slice away the bindings around Joshua's wrists. "You really left me no choice." Ian was usually careful of Harland's son, not that the senior Sawyer seemed to care what happened to his son. Ian imagined he and Harland viewed family in very similar ways.

"I trusted you."

"First mistake." Ian shook his head. "Your father taught you better than that."

"You heard The Knight _and_ my father as well as I did. No one was to follow them."

Ian didn't give a fuck about what John Winchester said. "I didn't hear a damn thing, and we didn't follow them."

Joshua rubbed his wrists, glaring at the Winchesters. "Them I can almost understand, but you…" Joshua's face twisted into a frown as he once again levered his icy blue gaze on Hastings. "What is your motivation for this idiotic goose chase?"

"I have a brother out there." It was true. Rick and he were blood. It should have been all the motivation Ian needed he supposed, but honestly what pissed him off was the fact Rick had gotten himself taken out. It reflected badly on the Hastings name.

Sawyer rolled his eyes in disbelief, wiping a hand over his chapped lips. "That's as valid a proclamation as me vowing to save a perfect stranger."

Ian grabbed Joshua again, slamming him against the Impala. No one talked to him that way. "Don't judge me, Sawyer. I take care of my own! No one takes something from a Hastings and gets away with it."

"So this is about finding the monster and forcing it to make amends for wounding your pride?"

Dean shoved in between the two hunters. "Cut it out! We don't have time for this playground shit."

Ian let Dean assert his bravado. He would have loved to take the snot-nosed punk out. Perhaps when it was over, and he was sure Reaves was out of the picture for good, he'd treat Dean to the initiation he'd shared with Caleb.

"Says the schoolyard bully!" Joshua pulled away from Ian. He turned his heated gaze on Dean. "Wait until your father hears about this."

"Don't be a sore loser, Josh," Sam spoke up.

Ian liked the younger brother better. He was ballsy without the smart-assed attitude that Dean shared with Reaves. "Yeah, Josh." Ian slapped a hand roughly across Joshua's chest. "Don't be a sore loser."

Sawyer made a move towards the teen, and Dean slammed him against the car this time. "Do it and you'll be the one needing a search and rescue party when I'm through kicking your ass."

"You're never getting a ring after this," Joshua informed Dean. "You'll make me look like a prodigy."

Ian had to hold his laugh. If Joshua hadn't figured it out by now, he was more of an idiot than Harland thought. Dean Winchester would get a ring right on schedule, if not before. He was Murphy's pet. Another reason for Ian to whip his ass.

"I don't give a fuck about a ring." Dean growled, releasing Sawyer. "I just want to find Caleb and bring him home."

Ian rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. Joshua must have heard him because he glanced at Ian once more. "At least that's an honorable answer."

This time Hastings couldn't contain his laugh. "As if you would know honor if it snuck up in the dark and bashed you on the head?" He smiled at his own humor. "Now are you going to work with us and keep your mouth shut or are you going back in the trunk to wait for us?"

"I assure you I'm not going back into the trunk."

Ian braced himself for a fight. Joshua might have portrayed a fine, well-bred gentleman, but he fought dirty. He could easily defeat those stupid enough to underestimate him. But Ian wasn't stupid.

"Then help us." Sam stepped forward. "You're one of The Brotherhood. You're sworn to help and protect others who wear the ring. They're your first priority." Sam held his ground. "Even if you are a jerk."

Ian really did like the kid, a fact he'd be sure to share with Griffin Porter.

"Is that some kind of persuasion tactic? Insult the person you are trying to convince?" Joshua sighed, cutting his eyes to Dean. "Typical Winchester, I suppose."

"Yep."

Sawyer glanced at the trunk, then regarded Ian once more. "Why do I get the impression I'm sorely going to regret this?"

Ian slapped Joshua on the back. "I wouldn't worry. That's probably just the side effects of the concussion talking."

"You're very funny." Joshua grumbled. "But we'll see who's laughing when I bring Wally, the Beav and Eddie up on kidnapping and assault charges."

Ian ignored the antiquated Leave It To Beaver reference and the veiled threat of Joshua tattling to The Triad. After all, they couldn't exactly punish Ian without doling the same justice out to the Winchesters. That wasn't going to happen. "Come on, we're burning daylight."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

"What the hell do you mean; the boys have left the farm?" John demanded as Bobby rejoined them at Harland's car. They had been searching for a few hours. Singer had used the phone in Mackland's Land Rover to contact Jim regarding their unsuccessful mission thus far.

The mechanic looked between John and Mackland. "Seems Jim tried to get some rest and when he woke up, everyone was gone. To say The Guardian is not happy is a big-ass understatement."

"Joshua too?" Harland looked surprised. "That doesn't sound like him. Perhaps he and Ian went to look for the boys."

Bobby snorted. "Yeah. Because _that_ so sounds like something your son would do."

"Bobby." Mackland stated. "You're not helping." He glanced to John. "You don't think they would come here?"

John favored him with an incredulous look. "What do you think, Doc?"

"I think I'm a fool." The doctor ran a hand over his weary eyes. "Dean told me last night that he didn't believe Caleb was dead."

"Goddamnit!" John swore. He knew he should have talked to Dean before he left, drilled into his head why he had to stay behind. "This is all we need. When I get my hands on those two…"

"I could try to read their location."

"I don't have anything that belongs to them." John gestured to Mackland's vehicle. "We didn't bring the Impala." They had taken Ames's vehicle because it was larger, better for the back road terrains.

Mackland sighed. "We'll have to go back."

John threw his arms up, wasted hours. "Wonderful. Just fucking beautiful!"

"We'll never make it back before dark." Bobby once again became the bearer of bad news.

"You have a better idea?" John snapped. "We could search for hours in these mountains, pass them by and never know it." John didn't fear for their safety as much as he did them having more success. The thoughts of Dean and Sam finding Caleb, or what was left of him, made his decision easy. "We have no choice but to head back to the farm."

"I seriously don't think Joshua or Ian would have been a part of something so foolhardy."

John glared at Harland. "When I get a hold of them they're going to wish they had been as smart as you think they are, Sawyer. Trust me."

_RcJSnsnsnsNRcJ_

"This is a foolish endeavor. You're aware of that, correct?" Joshua grumbled as he shoved a tree limb out of his way.

"No it's not. We know where the caves are," Sam said, trailing behind Sawyer. Dean was in the lead, Hastings bringing up the rear.

"And where exactly would that be?"

"Dean and I determined their co-ordinates using Jim's maps. The first one shouldn't be much further."

Dean, having overheard the comments, stopped to check his compass. He flashed Joshua a snide smile. "I guess you wouldn't happen to have some kind of Wendigo tracking device on you, Josh? Because that Black Dog locator you had rocked."

Joshua ignored the jibe at his failed attempts to detect a Black Dog on a hunt several years ago. Caleb Reaves would never be truly dead as long as Dean's smart mouth lived on. "And what if these caves are nothing more than a spelunker's paradise?"

"They're the most likely place for the Wendigo to hole up." Sam took a drink from his canteen, offered it to his brother. "We've got three to check out."

"We've been on foot for a few hours now."

"With your droning on it seemed much longer than that." Ian stopped suddenly. He bent down to observe a track in the soft earth. "Check this out." He motioned to Dean.

The oldest Winchester knelt and brushed away some of the foliage. "Too big for a human print." He met Hastings's gaze. "You ever seen anything like this?"

Ian shook his head. "It sure isn't any animal track-different than a big foot, too."

Sam gave Joshua a satisfied smile. "Told you we were close."

"I hate to be a 'I told you so' kind of guy, but I did try to warn you this was a preposterous plan." Joshua pushed his hair away from his face with a heavy exhale. They had most certainly found the first cave as Sam predicted-found it completely void of anything human or supernatural. Unless one counted flying rodents. "Nothing in that cave but bats." Joshua hated bats.

"It's only the first one," Sam protested. "The next one is close."

If Joshua's head hadn't been pounding, he might have felt sorrier for the youngest Winchester. He refrained from further comments.

"I spotted another set of tracks and a couple of places that looks like something was dragged." Ian jogged towards them from a cropping of trees. "And I found this." He held up what looked like a watch.

Dean took the dirt-covered silver band. He turned it over in his hand. His breath caught.

Joshua watched him carefully brush away the embedded grass and earth to study the back, then those green eyes were staring at him. Not as smug as surprised. Like a child's eyes on Christmas morning. "This is Caleb's."

"Are you sure?" Joshua knew he sounded skeptical, even unthankful. He was a realist. He took the wristwatch, scrutinizing the silver casing and shiny blue face. Anyone who knew anything about watches would have recognized it. "A Tag Heuer. Pricey, but less pretentious than Rolex and Cartier." It suited Reaves. The man had a way of using his wealth without letting it define him.

Dean took it back, clasped it in his hand. "This proves he was here."

Joshua's face softened. "It doesn't mean he's alive." False hope was cruel. Despite what others thought of him, he wasn't merciless.

"Let's keep moving," Ian ordered, starting back along the path they had mapped.

Joshua was mildly impressed with the Winchesters. They had outlined the routes extremely well. He would not forget his forced participation in this jaunt, but he had to give credit where credit was due. They were well-trained and dedicated. Just like Caleb. Perhaps Jim Murphy wasn't making the tremendous mistake his father claimed.

"Do you hear that?" Dean stopped suddenly, grabbing hold of his little brother's arm, halting him.

"What?" Ian tilted his head. "I don't hear anything."

"That's what I'm talking about. No birds, no rustling leaves."

"There isn't any wildlife around here," Sam said, looking around their perimeter. "It's like we stepped into some kind of black hole."

"It is winter. Not exactly Bambi-like weather." Again Joshua tried to be the voice of reason.

"Winchester's right." Ian swung his gaze around their surroundings. "Animals have an innate sense of evil. We need to be more careful if we're getting close. We don't want that thing to catch us off guard."

Joshua still wasn't convinced of the Winchester's Wendigo theory. Yet, he wasn't so obstinate that he would jeopardize his life. "How far are we from the next cave?"

"It's just up ahead." Dean pointed west.

Ian knelt at the rocky ground by the cave entrance. He pointed to the dark red spots splattered over the earth and rotted leaves. "Blood."

"How fresh?" Dean joined him.

Ian ran his fingers over some of the bigger splotches and rubbed his fingers together. "Pretty damn recent."

Dean licked his lips, glanced to his brother. "Something has to be alive to bleed."

"Your optimism is inspiring." Joshua peered into the dark entrance of the cave, wrinkling his nose. "What is that rancid smell?" He did not look forward to another journey into the void, especially one that smelled.

Dean looked at him. He retrieved a gun from the back of his jeans. "Maybe it's that pesky optimism of mine, but I'm going out on a limb and say that's eau of Wendigo."

Joshua gestured to the gun and then to the cross bow Sam was holding. "I didn't think traditional weapons were effective."

"Consecrated iron shells and silver-tipped arrows," Dean replied. "Probably won't kill it, but they'll slow it down."

"You hope."

Dean offered him a half-assed grin. "Have a little faith, Josh."

_RcJ SnsnsnsnsnsN RcJ_

"Look at this." John shoved a yellow legal pad at Bobby.

Singer took the paper. "And what am I supposed to be looking at?"

Winchester rolled his eyes, tapped his finger roughly on the paper. "I found this on Sam's bed. I did a pencil rubbing to pick up any traces of what he might have written."

Bobby held it closer to his face, studied the impression that had been highlighted. "Wendigo." He breathed. Some of the color leached from his face. "Holy hell. You don't think…"

"Did you research this hunt, Bobby?"

"Hell no!" Singer replied angrily. "I didn't have a chance. Jim called me and the kid in as back-up. We were going on Harland's intel."

"And what was wrong with my information?" Harland entered The Hunter's Tomb along with Mackland and Jim.

"Did you consider anything besides a werewolf?"John demanded.

"I thought about a Black Dog, but the moon phase seemed to fit with a lupine outbreak."

"Johnathan, what are you thinking?" Jim moved alongside The Knight.

"It's not what I was thinking." John took the paper from Bobby. "It's what Sam put together."

"Your thirteen-year-old son?" Harland shook his head. "You think a child uncovered a detail I missed."

"Sam is not your typical child." Mackland moved to take the pad from John. "What's a Wendigo?"

"One bad-ass cannibalistic sonofabitch," Bobby answered. "It makes a Big Foot look like a member of the bovine family."

"They start out as humans," John picked up. "But somewhere along the line, whether out of necessity or maliciousness, they consume human flesh."

"And there are all kinds of theories about the properties attributed to that." Mackland nodded. "It's taboo in almost every culture."

"For damn good reason," Bobby interjected. "A person might gain super strength and speed, but they also get more than they bargained for." He raked a hand over his beard. "Over the years the person becomes something less than human. It's hungry all the damn time. And the more it feeds, the more it grows in power. The more it feels the pain of needing to feed again."

"It's a never-ending cycle." Jim spoke thoughtfully. "As is the case with most evil acts."

"Why have I never heard of one of these?" Harland asked.

"They're usually spotted in Canada and sometimes the far northern states." Jim frowned. "If one shows up on our radar, it has been customary to send The Knight, or one specifically skilled in such creatures."

"Thanks for that by the way," John grumbled. "The only one I dealt with nearly did me in."

"I think I was the one who almost ended up as its next meal," Bobby quickly interjected. "And thank you by the way for calling me in as back-up."

"Wasn't like I was going to ask Dean or Caleb to do it." John pointedly looked at Harland. "The Wendigo is a damn amazing hunter. It's smarter than a normal human, deadlier than a grizzly."

"I had no evidence of any such thing being in those woods."

Bobby snorted. "The missing bodies would be a clue."

"But Jim just pointed out that Wendigos usually stay north."

"It's not a given." Jim moved to the shelves of journals, running his fingers along the spines. "Now where is that…"

John watched The Guardian as he mumbled under his breath and prowled along the back wall of The Tomb. "Jim?"

"I know that Maxim and Julian ran across one in Florida, but neither of their journals is here."

John exhaled heavily. "Sam."

Jim straightened. "My boy does like to read through the books."

John frowned. He and Sam were going to have a long talk about taking things that didn't belong to you. "Your boy knows better than to remove them."

"He must have uncovered the entries about the Wendigo and put the pieces together," Mackland surmised. "But why would they go after it? Why in God's name didn't they come to us?"

Bobby and John shared knowing looks. John knew exactly what his sons were thinking.

"What?" Mackland demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Wendigo don't usually kill their victims right away. They cart them off to their lair for safekeeping."

When Mackland still seemed confused, John explained further. "They need a reserve of food for hibernation, Mac, and they like live prey."

The proverbial light bulb blinked above the doctor's head. "Caleb and Rick could still be alive."

"Don't get your hopes up, Mackland," John cautioned.

"But that's what Sam and Dean concluded. They think this creature is holding Caleb." The doctor slid a hand through his hair. "Oh my God. He could be hurt. It's been almost three days and I..."

"Mackland." Jim put a hand on The Scholar's shoulder. "We don't know if any of this is valid. You know how boys are. You know _those_ boys. They would do anything to bring Caleb back."

"And there were signs of a werewolf," Harland pointed out. "And the timing of the moon can not be discounted."

"You think a Wendigo is smart enough to lead a hunter off its trail?" Mackland asked John.

Winchester nodded. "Yes. It can set a trap, too. Like nobody's business."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

The cave was damp, dark, cramped. Made more unpleasant by the over-powering smell of rotted meat. The path twisted and turned as they moved further into the belly of the tunnel. Dean felt his brother's hand brush against his back as he panned the flashlight low against the ground.

He pulled his t-shirt further up over his nose to keep the smell from gagging him. Death was everywhere, lurking in the shadows. Dean hated the idea of Caleb being in such a place, but in the same thought he prayed he was there.

The narrow trail finally opened into a larger cavern and Dean shown the light around the open space. Sam gasped.

"Oh man."

It didn't take Dean long to understand his brother's distress. "One hell of a mass grave." Bones of different sizes and types littered the cave floor with a few skulls tossed in for good measure. Some were whitened by time; others still had tendons and muscle clinging to them.

"Looks like you hit the Wendigo thing right on, Winchester." Ian clicked his tongue. "It looks like this bastard has been around for years."

"Most are hundreds of years old," Sam replied.

"Or we could have just found the lair of a very reclusive serial killer."

Dean gave Joshua an incredulous look. "Yeah. Right. Hannibal Lector meets Grizzly Adams. Makes perfect sense."

"Shh." Ian held up his hand. "Something's coming."

Dean heard it too. "Damn." He turned off the flashlight. "Take cover."

They spread out, diving for large rocks and gaps in the walls. Dean pulled Sam behind a huge boulder, wedging him against the wall. Dean kept himself in between his brother and the threat of what was moving closer.

He edged his head up over the rock as the massive shape lumbered by. It had to be more than fifteen feet tall, lanky. Dean tightened his grip on his gun. It would be risky to take a blind shot, especially since they needed a heart hit.

The Wendigo seemed not to notice anything amiss, instead moving straight through the cavern towards the path leading outside. The smell of carnage strengthened as it passed. Dean swallowed hard to keep from being sick.

Once he was sure it was gone, Dean cautiously edged out. "You okay?" He asked Sam.

"Did you get a look at it?" His brother whispered.

"No. Just an idea of its size."

"It was fucking huge," Ian said, joining them. "As big as a Sasquatch."

"It didn't seem to realize we were here." Joshua materialized from one of deep shadows along the far wall. "Don't you find that a little strange?"

"I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth." Ian nodded in the direction the Wendigo had come. "This is our chance."

"Chance at what exactly?" Joshua demanded.

"To rescue Caleb and Rick," Dean replied, thinking along the same lines as Hastings. If they could get in and out without a confrontation it would be better.

"And if that thing comes back we will be in its inner sanctum -its territory with no advantage."

"You want to stay here with all the dead guys and stand guard, go ahead," Dean growled. "We're going in."

Ian reached out and gripped Dean's shoulder. "For once Joshua might not have a bad idea, Winchester." He looked at Sam. "The kid could keep one of the radios and…"

"Hell no!" Dean hissed, shrugging off Hastings's grasp. "Sam stays with me, and I'm going after Caleb."

"Dean, maybe he's right," Sam whispered. "If that thing comes back I can give you guys a heads up-some warning."

"No way, Sam!" Dean hissed.

"I don't mind doing it," Joshua offered quickly.

"No." Ian shook his head. "You're bigger and stronger. We may need you."

"Now it all makes sense. You shanghaied me for my brawn."

Sam clasped his brother's shirt. "Caleb needs you, Dean."

Dean didn't like it, but it did make sense to have someone covering their asses-someone to alert them if the stinking Gumby look-a-like came back. He just didn't want it to be his little brother.

Dealing with losing Caleb had opened his eyes even wider to the ever present reality of how quickly a job could go bad, how cruelly someone he loved could be snatched away. He couldn't quite believe he had let his guard down. He vowed not to let it happen again.

"I promise I'll stay hidden behind this boulder and contact you as soon as I see anything."

Dean reluctantly relented. "Keep your guard up." He handed his brother one of the walkie-talkies. "And no heroics. Got it?"

"Got it." Sam smiled. "Same goes for you too, big brother."

RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ

"I can't believe they pulled this shit." John Winchester was in the passenger's seat of Bobby's car, on his way back to Tennessee. Mackland, Jim, and Harland were following in Mackland's SUV. "We'll never make it back before dark."

"Don't looked so surprised, Winchester. It's not exactly like you raised them to sit around with their thumbs up their asses."

"I didn't teach them to be reckless and stupid either!"

"No, but kids tend to learn a lot just from modeling."

"Shut up, Bobby!" John didn't have the patience for Singer's smart-assed remarks. Sometimes he wondered if Mackland realized exactly where Caleb and Dean had gotten that particular trait.

"Why don't you just go ahead and admit who you're really pissed at and get it out of your system."

John frowned. "Right now I'm pissed at a lot of things."

"You can admit it. You're not going to hurt my feelings. Probably won't be anything I haven't thought myself."

"Goddamnit, Bobby." John placed a fist against his forehead. "You know how I feel about Sawyer and Hastings."

"I know how you feel about Harland and Ian." He cut his eyes to The Knight. "This was Rick. He's a competent hunter, learned to hunt from his daddy who was a good man, not Slick Dick."

"Caleb's impulsive," John countered. "You have to keep a short reign. He barely listens to us. He sure the hell ain't going to take orders from someone like Rick."

"Are you kidding me?" Bobby took his eyes from the road to flash John an incredulous look. "I've seen you send him into a whole hell of a lot more dangerous situations with the likes of Silas, Boone and a few others we won't mention."

"Not after a fucking Wendigo."

"I didn't know that's what we were dealing with." Bobby stated, glancing back to the highway. "And as I told you before, Junior didn't exactly ask my opinion on the matter. As you pointed out, he rarely listens to a goddamn thing I say." Singer groused under his breath. "Unless it's something I don't want him to pay attention to, then he's got the fucking ears of a bat."

John sighed. "How'd you piss him off?"

"Who said I did?"

John raised a brow. "What'd you say to him, Bobby?"

"You know how goddamn touchy he can be. He's as prickly as a rosebush."

"About a few things." John frowned. "Mostly he lets stuff you say slide right off. Cuts you more slack than I would."

Bobby's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "It wasn't me that said anything. Damn demon we were exorcising did all the talking."

John rubbed a hand over his mouth. "That would definitely be one of the things." He could protect Caleb from a lot of things, but not his personal demons.

"I took a few extra measures to keep the 'victim' quiet and ordered Junior's ass out of the room." Bobby scratched at his whiskers. "He didn't want to go so I might have told him he was a liability and too close to the situation, or something along that line."

"Nice." John exhaled heavily. Caleb would have twisted Bobby's meaning, taken the words to heart. "You're sensitivity amazes me."

"Like you're fucking Mr. Rogers." Bobby glared at John. "You weren't the one there having to watch his face as that demonic bastard spouted all its lies."

"That's the problem, Bobby. Caleb doesn't really believe they're lies."

"Yeah. Well, I'm going to set him straight on a few things when we find his scrawny ass."

"Speaking of…" John looked at Singer. "You remember the way he looked when we gave him that piece of shit Jeep?"

Bobby frowned at the change in subject, but then his mouth twitched. "Goofy as hell." Singer laughed. "Eyes lit up like we had given him the keys to one of those fiberglass foreign numbers he was fawning over."

John nodded. "I can't get that picture out of my head."

Bobby cleared his throat. "When exactly did he grow up on us?"

John shook his head, turned his gaze to the darkened blur of scenery passing by. "When we blinked. Same as Dean."

"Sammy will be next."

John grimaced, his chest clenching. "I just hope we get a chance to bitch about that too."

Bobby laughed. This time it was heartfelt. "Oh don't worry, old man. I have a feeling Sam is going to give you a hell of a lot to bitch about."

"Can you hurry it up, Bobby?"

"You wouldn't be saying that if we were in the Impala."

John snorted. "You wouldn't be driving if we were in the Impala."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Dean was surprised the metallic twang of blood could permeate the putrid stench filling the space. There had to be a lot of it. Dean remembered his earlier statement about something needing to be alive in order to bleed. That only held true until so much blood was lost. Like the theoretical amount it would take to cover the foul aroma of death and decay.

Dean heard the familiar sound. It reminded him of the tire swing at Jim's farm-the distinctive creaking of twine as it was pulled tight. Not three feet in front of him, a body was suspended from the ceiling, another not far past it.

"Dear God." Joshua panned his flashlight over the expanse of the area.

"Let's move further in." He swallowed down his horror, the worry for Caleb and weaved in and out of the corpse pendulums.

The fresh splashes of red on a pale blue shirt and the long black hair drew his attention. It was a woman.

The girl didn't move. To Dean's surprise she had a pulse. That was something more than could be said for Rick. Without even touching the blond hunter, Dean knew the man was dead. His head was dropped to the side, lifeless eyes stared past Dean. Where his throat should have been was a gore of blood and tissue. The kill was recent.

"Rick!" Ian brushed past him, the beam of his flashlight joining Dean's in illuminating the macabre mess. "Fuck!"

"Dean." Joshua's quiet statement had him tearing his eyes from Rick's lifeless form and following Sawyer's line of sight. Not four feet away from Hastings hung another body.

It was Caleb Reaves.

RcJ

Chapter 4 Coming December 22


	4. Chapter 4

All is Well

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Okay, I am past deadline, but so thankful I made it before Christmas just the same. I have Tidia to thank for that. She not only betaed this monster; but patched the holes and padded the weak frame adding her pros where I was at a loss. She's awesome, and I know Santa will be extra good to her. As I hope he is to all of you! Thank you for your kind reviews not only for this story but the others through out this past year. I really can't say how much it means. In other news, there are some great new videos from The Brotherhood AU out there. Both Tara and Sensue have done some excellent work and I think Sensue has a surprise in store for the new year. As well as a lot of very good stories by several authors. Tidia and I are always amazed so many talented people want to play in this Universe. I hope that continues. Thanks everyone and have a magical new year! The next chapter of To The Victor should be here in 2008.

P.S. For those die hard Dean girls, I promise my next big story The Edge of Winter goes back to my usual pattern of hurt Dean and then hurt him some more and then heap some angst on for good measure (grin).

RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Dean made it to Caleb first. The older hunter was suspended from the ceiling by his arms, his head lolled between his shoulders. "Damien!"

The seventeen-year-old stopped short of touching the other man. His chest tightened. He felt panic wash over him. The side of Caleb's face was stained with blood, as was his shirt and jeans.

"Is he breathing?"

Joshua's question forced Dean to reach up, rest one hand on the side of Caleb's face, the other at the base of his best friend's neck. "Caleb?"

The older hunter's skin was cold, but he had a pulse. Dean sent out a breathless thank you. "He's alive." Dean wanted to shout it again to reassure himself it was real. "He's alive," he said when Joshua didn't move.

"Damien?" Dean gave Caleb a shake. Whether it was the tone of his voice or the jostling, Reaves came to with a start.

The psychic's eyes widened in alarm, then snapped shut. "Arggh."

"Easy," Dean soothed. "It's me."

Caleb coughed. He met Dean's concerned gaze with glassy eyes, his face twisted in pain. "Deu…ce?"

"Yeah. Hold on. I've got you." Dean reluctantly removed his touch, handed his knife to Joshua. "Here. Cut him down."

Joshua took the blade and waited for Dean to get a better grip on the hunter. Sawyer kept one hand on Caleb's bound wrists, using the other to slice through the rope. Dean took Caleb's weight as Joshua eased the injured hunter's arms down.

Caleb groaned. "Damn…it."

"You okay?" Dean asked as they carefully settled the psychic on the ground.

Caleb didn't answer. His eyes were closed tightly. He panted through gritted teeth.

"Talk to me, Damien." Dean stripped off his pack. He used his jacket to cover Caleb. "Where are you hurt?"

Reaves eyes fluttered. Dean placed a hand on his chest. "Come on." Dean rubbed his friend's sternum. "Keep your eyes open. Stay awake."

Caleb groaned again. "Cold…"

"Yeah. I bet." Dean leaned closer, pressed his hand to the other hunter's forehead. "Can you tell us what hurts?"

It took a moment but Caleb finally complied. "Right ear… _doesn't_ hurt."

Caleb's voice was scratchy rough but the smart-assed reply had Dean's eyes stinging. He laughed. "That's good to know, Dude."

"Here." Joshua handed Dean his canteen. "Small sips," he added as he pulled a thermal blanket from Dean's pack. "We're lucky it's warmer in here than outside. Still, hypothermia could be an issue."

Dean started to tell Sawyer he knew how to do preliminary field triage, but he was too damn relieved Caleb wasn't in the same shape as Rick. He took the flask, lifted Caleb's head to give him a drink. "Man, it's so damn good to see your sorry ass. I thought I was going to have to face the evil carolers alone this year."

Caleb winced as Dean eased him back to the ground. "What's…hap'ning?"

"These wounds on his leg are bad." Joshua continued his masquerade as a doctor. "They look infected."

Dean glanced to the tears in Caleb's jeans. The top portion of his right leg was exposed; jagged slashes ran parallel, traveling up from his knee disappearing beneath the intact denim. The bleeding had stopped on its own at some point, but the cuts were puffy and pink. Dean wondered if Wendigos were poisonous. He cut his gaze to where Ian was still standing motionless in front of Rick. "Josh, help Hastings cut the girl and Rick down."

"Hastings?" Caleb tried to move his head as he watched Joshua stand and walk away. "Rick?"

"Take it easy." Dean anticipated the move, placing a restraining hand on the psychic's chest. "Joshua and Ian have him covered." He held the canteen to Caleb's lips again. "Take another drink."

Caleb took a couple of greedy gulps and choked. Dean pulled the water away. "Go slow."

Caleb nodded, then winced. Dean touched the gash at the edge of his friend's hairline. "You got a good size lump there, Damien. What is it with you and head injuries?"

"Luck." Caleb hissed.

Dean let his fingers slide to the other hunter's neck and took his pulse. It was racing. "It'll be okay. We're going to get you out of here."

Caleb's breath quickened. "I…can't feel my arms."

"Nothing permanent, Damien." Dean smiled, tried for reassuring. "Give it a minute. You'll probably be wishing for the numbness to come back before long." He had no doubt once Caleb's blood flow returned to normal; the man would be in a world of hurt.

Caleb swallowed, then closed his eyes. "Deuce…tell me."

Dean let his hand slide through Caleb's hair. "We thought you were dead, man." Despite the dire situation, the seventeen-year-old felt a wash of relief. He could breathe easy again. Caleb was alive.

Caleb opened his eyes, frowning in confusion. "What…"

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah. You've been hanging around in some sick cannibal's meat locker for almost three days. I'm guessing you were going to be the goose in a Wendigo Christmas dinner. But we…"

"Oh God!" Caleb jerked, his eyes wildly searching the area around them. "Where…Where'd it go?"

"Hey. Hey. Take it easy."

"Dean…get out of here!"

"Dude, the Donner party isn't home."

"No…" Caleb shook his head. "It'll know you're here…It's psychic. It's …a trap."

"What?"

The older hunter tried to lift one of his arms, but only managed a small flailing movement. "I had… to keep my blocks up. The bastard wanted in my head."

That explained why Mac couldn't get a reading on Caleb. Dean kept a firm grip on his friend and turned towards the passageway in which they had come. "Sammy."

"Sammy?" Caleb struggled again. "Tell me…he's not here?"

Dean met his gaze. "He's keeping watch…in the first cavern."

"It'll sense him like it did me…"

Before Dean could act on the new revelation his radio crackled to life, Sam's quiet voice echoed around them. "Athewm, bogey in the area. Over."

Caleb met his worried gaze. "Go!"

Dean didn't have a chance to move. The Wendigo was upon them, loping through the entranceway of the cavern with the speed of a cheetah, long arms and claws extended. Dean quickly stood and stepped in front of Caleb. He pulled the gun from the back of his jeans, raised it to fire.

Ian had the same thought, moving into Dean's line of sight, hefting his gun in one fluid motion. "Eat this you sick fuck!" Hastings fired six consecutive rounds, the gunfire echoing like small explosions in the cave.

The creature barely stumbled with the impact, lifting his head and roaring in anger. It kept coming, although slower.

"I thought you said consecrated iron would work," Joshua shouted.

"I said it would slow it down," Dean yelled back. "Hastings! Drop!"

Ian ducked and Dean fired his weapon into the creature. It snarled and howled like a wounded animal but barely missed a step as it continued towards them.

"Deuce…get the hell out of here!" Caleb made it to his knees. "The tunnel…keeps going. I think it opens up to the outside again."

The Wendigo kept coming- golden yellow eyes locked on Dean.

It suddenly stopped and screamed.

The creature whirled around, away from Dean. There was an arrow protruding from its back. Dean moved his eyes from the Wendigo to its attacker-its new intended target.

"Sam!"

The thirteen-year-old was holding the bow, trying to reload another silver-tipped arrow. Dean took off for his brother, knowing he'd never reach him in time. He had just gotten Caleb back. He refused to lose Sam.

RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ

The Wendigo turned on Sam, screaming again. It was at least eight feet tall, hideous as the drawings Julian Smith had done in his journal.

Sam raised the bow, arrow in place, but never got the shot off. Not only was the creature huge, it was unbelievably quick and agile. It used one large claw-like hand to deliver a glancing blow.

Sam lost the grip on his weapon as he was sent reeling into the cave wall. A hot knife-like pain lanced through his arm, a sickening crack accompanying it as the teen's right side took the brunt of the impact. Sam cried out as his head connected with granite, black spots exploded before him.

He blinked, knowing he had to orient himself if he was going to survive. The Wendigo was on him, it's putrid breath stifling, stealing his breath. "Get off!"

Sam struggled, fought wildly as claws dug painfully at him. The creature opened its mouth wider. . Before any yellowed teeth could reach him, the Wendigo roared and straightened. Its long arms flailing about as if it were trying to scratch a spot it couldn't reach.

"Get the hell away from my brother, you sonofabitch!"

"Dean." Sam stated. The monster stood, roaring again.

Dean lunged, his blade piercing its chest. Instead of attacking the older Winchester, the Wendigo seemed to deflate. The howl sounded more pain-induced, wounded-animal like than fury driven. It gave Sam one last look. A painful pressure resounded in the teen's head before it loped off the way it had came.

"Sammy." Dean knelt next to his brother. "Are you okay? Are you alright?"

Sam felt the older boy's hands on him, his green eyes searching Sam's with such concern. Sam took a shaky, ragged breath. "Dean…"

"Yeah. Take it easy. Keep breathing."

"Okay." That sounded like a good idea. Sam started to shake. "Where did it go?"

Dean probed at the gash on Sam's head, his face hardening. "Back to hell, I hope."

"I doubt if we'll be that lucky." Joshua suddenly appeared next to Dean. He was holding his gun. "If we're lucky the iron and silver might buy us a short reprieve."

Dean ignored Sawyer, continuing to check his brother. "What the hell were you thinking, Sam?"

Sam took another breath, this one coming easier. "That you guys were going to be dinner."

"Where are you hurt?" Dean frowned.

"My arm." Sam held it protectively against his side as his brother reached for it. He licked his lips anxiously. "I think it's broken."

"Great," Dean growled. Sam grimaced under his brother's gentle touch, but didn't reply. "You're lucky Mr. Meat and Potatoes didn't snap you like the Thanksgiving turkey wishbone."

"Deuce?" Caleb called out weakly. "He… okay?"

"Caleb?" Sam straightened, reaching his good hand out for his brother to help him stand. "He's okay?"

"He's alive." Dean looked back into the darkness before pulling the younger boy up from the ground. "For now."

"I told you." Dean couldn't believe Sam was grinning smugly despite their precarious situation. "We just needed some faith."

Dean took hold of Sam's good arm to help him over to where Caleb's position. "And I told you no heroics, to stay put. You just need some brains and a new set of ears."

"I knew you weren't dead!" Sam told Caleb as they neared the other hunter.

"Good for you, Runt."

"You were tracking a Wendigo, not a werewolf." The teen explained to the psychic as he kneeled beside him on the ground. "They like live prey."

"You don't say." Caleb smiled weakly. "Where were you three days ago, Sherlock?"

"And where the hell were you when that thing killed my brother, Reaves?"

_RcJSnsnsnsNRcJ_

Caleb, Dean and Sam all turned to look at Hastings. He was standing above them, fists clenched. Dean could understand the man's grief; but he didn't like the accusatory tone of his voice or the anger directed at Caleb.

"Where the hell do you think he was?" Dean demanded. He gestured to the nasty rope burns and abrasions on Caleb's wrists. "Hanging out enjoying the scenery?"

Ian shook his head. "He's still breathing."

"I tried to hold it off telepathically. It knew what I was doing."

"So why didn't it rip a chunk out of you?" Ian spat. "Does demon taste that fucking bad?"

"Shut up!" Dean stepped nose to nose with Hastings. "Before I arrange a reunion with good old Rick."

Ian shoved the younger man. "Go for it, Winchester. I've been waiting for a time to fix your smart mouth."

Caleb leaned on Sam and made it to his feet. "Try it, Ian and when I can move again I'll end you. Ring or no ring."

"This is all very exciting," Joshua interrupted. "But in case all the raging testosterone has clouded your memory, we're in the lair of a very pissed off cannibalistic killer without any useful weapons to defend ourselves. I really doubt if the biting sarcasm and dire threats will have much effect."

"He's right." Sam agreed. Dean shot his brother an annoyed glare. "The silver won't keep it away for long and it won't give us a chance to react when it attacks again."

"There's a back exit." Caleb jutted his chin towards a barely visible hole in the wall. "I've seen it go out that way."

Dean watched Ian look towards the passageway. He was weighing his options. "Then let's go."

"We'll have to carry the girl," Dean said. He wasn't leaving a snack for the Wendigo.

"And Rick." Ian bucked up. "We're not leaving him."

"He's deadweight," Dean pointed out. He wasn't trying to be malicious. The Brotherhood left no man behind, but they needed to get out alive, take care of the wounded, then return with reinforcements to claim the fallen. "We need to move."

"They'll slow us up." Ian gestured to the girl who had not regained consciousness. "She's not going to last much longer. And Reaves…"

Dean was beginning to get the picture Ian was just as upset about finding Caleb alive as he was about finding Rick dead. "Your mouth is holding us up, Hastings."

"Deuce…"

Dean recognized the tone in Caleb's voice. It was the one he took on before he was about to do something completely selfless and stupid. He turned to glare at the other hunter, barely staying vertical with Sam's help. "Don't even think it."

"You can give me a gun…I can hold it off until you and Sammy get clear."

"No way." Dean shook his head. "We're not leaving you to face that thing."

"He's right," Ian agreed. Hastings pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, then aimed at Caleb.

Dean's hand twitched reflexively, thoughts of pulling his own weapon leapt to his mind. He took a step back instead, glared at Ian. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Getting out of here alive. He's only going to hold us back."

"So you're what? Going to put him down?"

"You want to leave him alive for that thing to finish him off, like it did Rick?"

Dean felt Sam move to his side. "You're not killing him!"

Ian released the safety. "Get out of the way."

"Dean…Sammy…do as he says."

"No!" Dean snapped. This was not happening. "If we need to, we can stand our ground here."

"We'll die here is what we'll do and I for one…"

Ian's words came to an abrupt end as he suddenly crumpled in front of Sam and Dean. Joshua was standing behind him, holding what looked to be a large femur bone. "Turn about is fair play."

Dean snorted. Sawyer was a fucking enigma. He never knew which way the man was going to swing. "Way to go, Josh."

"It's Joshua, and I didn't do it for you." Sawyer dropped the leg bone, dusted his hands disdainfully. "I prefer not to become a meal for that creature."

"I've always liked you best." Caleb spoke up. "Lesser of three evils and all."

"I appreciate that." Sawyer rolled his eyes. "I can't really say the same for you."

"Maybe I've misjudged you," Dean said as he bent to retrieve Ian's gun.

"Perhaps you just feel guilty about my assault and kidnapping?"

Dean patted Ian's pockets until he found what he was looking for. He glanced up at Joshua as he found the duct tape. He cut a piece of the adhesive, binding Ian's hands and mouth. Dean grinned. "No. It's definitely not that."

Joshua exhaled heavily. "Despite my residual anger over your tactics, I happen to agree with you about holding our ground here. I have an idea."

"It better be a good one." Caleb brought a hand to his head. "That thing's recovering. I can sense it."

Joshua moved towards Sam. "Where's my grandfather's journal?"

"Ian's pack."

Sawyer moved to the bag in question and retrieved the journal. "Maxim was not above using my grandmother's talents in his work."

Dean watched him flip through the pages. "Your grandma a witch like your mother?"

"Jocelyn is an incredibly talented crafter. She's saved many a hunter's life, whether they knew it or not."

"You think magic can stop a Wendigo?"

Sam answered his brother's question. "Part of the Wendigo's transformation is often accredited to dark sorcery."

"I've read Maxim's journal cover to cover. It seems I recall…" Joshua paused. "Here it is."

"What?" Dean moved to Sawyer's side.

"Symbols of power." Joshua pointed to the pictures scrawled in Maxim Madrigal's hand. "I can use them to create a circle of protection. The Wendigo won't cross it."

"And you think that will work?" Dean was skeptical. "Did you see that thing?"

Joshua smirked. "As long as everyone stays _inside_ the circle, we should be fine."

Dean ignored the jab about his venturing out of the last safe haven Joshua had created during the hunt for the Black Dog over seven years ago. He met Caleb's gaze. "What do you think?"

"I think it's our only chance."

Dean sighed. "Merry Christmas to us."

_RcJSnsnsnsNRcJ_

"Mac?" John stepped beside his friend who had paused on the trail. The doctor had his eyes closed, his fingers wrapped tightly around Dean's Red Sox hat.

Mackland opened his eyes. "We're close." He glanced over his shoulder to where Bobby, Harland and Jim were waiting. "I don't think it's the first cave we marked. I sense they're further west."

John ran a hand over his beard, silently cursing the growing darkness. They had narrowed their search, using the Wendigo's propensity for cave-like dwellings. Sam and Dean most likely had done the same thing. "Are you sure? We'll lose time if we have to backtrack." He trusted Mac, however, these were his sons' lives.

Ames tightened his grip on the hat. "Damn it, Johnathan. You know this isn't rocket science. I'm only telling you what I _feel_ to be true."

"We could split up now," Bobby offered. He cut his eyes to The Guardian. "Harland and Mackland could check the first cave out. John and I can go on to the second one."

"I think that sounds prudent," Jim concurred. "I'll go with Mackland and Harland. We'll keep in radio contact."

John nodded, watched as Mackland hesitantly followed after Sawyer and The Guardian. He turned to Bobby once they were out of earshot. "Mac's rarely wrong."

Singer nodded grimly. "That's what I'm counting on."

John swallowed. Bobby was afraid they'd still be too late to find Caleb alive. "The boys might have gotten to him in time."

Singer slapped his friend on the shoulder as he passed him to move westward. "I'd put my money on a Winchester any day of the week."

_RcJSnsnsnsNRcJ_

"How you doing, Runt?" Caleb asked quietly. He and Sam had been remanded to watching over an unconscious Ian and the nameless hiker while Dean helped Joshua quickly draw the symbols on the ground.

"I'm okay."

Reaves frowned when Sam's eyes filled. "Are you sure? Is it your arm?" The shock had probably worn off, letting the pain of the injury make itself known. Caleb felt more than a little helpless to do anything, his own body betraying him.

Caleb did manage to carefully reach out a hand to check Sam's injury, but the kid latched onto him with his good hand instead. "My arm's okay."

The older hunter felt the boy's fingers tighten around his swollen wrist. He resisted the initial urge to joke his way out of the uncomfortable situation. "Sammy?"

"Dad said you were dead." The kid kept his voice low, yet, the urgency came through loud and clear. "We came home from school…and I thought he'd been drinking; but he hadn't. He'd been _crying_. And then he told Dean…and Dean…" Sam's voice broke. He looked towards his brother, who was unaware of the scrutiny.

Caleb swallowed the lump that sprung to his throat. "Dean what?"

Sam's eyes found his once more. Caleb felt a surge of pain. "Dean wasn't Dean anymore."

Caleb was pretty sure what kind of state Dean would have been in. He'd seen first hand how the seventeen-year-old handled loss. "I'm sorry, kiddo. If I could have…"

Sam shook his head. "I knew you wouldn't do that to him. That's how I knew you were alive."

Caleb almost expected Sam to spout something about Belac being Athewm's protector. Sometimes he missed the little boy who believed in dragons and magic. But Sam was changing, growing up and there wasn't anything anyone could do to change that. "I'm glad you stuck to your guns." He forced a smile. "I like our Dean just the way he is."

Sam squeezed his hand once more, then released it. "Me too."

Caleb felt a hot stabbing sensation lance through his already aching head. He nearly doubled over at the onslaught. He cried out. Sam's worried voice faded as he fought to stay conscious.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

"Dean!" Sam shouted for his brother as Caleb suddenly clasped his hands to his head and yelped in pain.

Dean leapt over Ian's sprawled form to their side in a second. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Sam started. "We were talking and…"

Caleb lifted his head at Dean's touch. "The sonofabitch's coming back," Caleb said. "And it's pissed."

"Joshua?"

"I'm hurrying!" Sawyer retorted as he finished the last symbol. He muttered a few words under his breath. "I hope that's the right incantation."

"And if it isn't…" Dean pulled his weapon.

"Then none of us will have that dreadful worry of returning any Christmas gifts."

Dean and Joshua kept their backs to the injured hunters, protecting them, their weapons drawn. The Wendigo showed no stealth as it entered, roaring, stomping its hulking frame towards them. Dean grimaced, wanted to step back, not trusting the symbols would hold the Wendigo back.

It charged at them. Joshua and Dean fired, but didn't have to, the protection circle flared, causing the Wendigo to shirk back, wounded.

"I hate return lines," Joshua commented with a smile.

Dean was relieved the symbols were working. He didn't want to ask the obvious question, his brother did.

"How long will it hold?"

Dean turned to look at his brother, then Joshua, then back to the Wendigo, who was making another attempt to traverse the circle. Beyond that he saw movement. "Until help arrives."

RcJ

John and Bobby came in at a run when they heard the roaring of the Wendigo from the outside of the cave. It sounded angry.

"Get away from them you sonofabitch!" John yelled, flare gun at the ready as soon as they entered the cave. He had been prepared this time for a Wendigo, not a werewolf.

The Wendigo turned, momentarily giving up its attack on the boys. John took the opportunity and fired, shooting the Wendigo in its chest.

It stopped, glowed a brilliant yellow before going up in a flame. John and Bobby stepped back from the searing heat, the boys did the same. Then it disintegrated into a scattered pile of ash.

"Way to go, Dad!" Dean whooped.

"Nice shot, Johnny." John heard a weaker, familiar voice say. John glanced to Caleb and then over his shoulder to Bobby, giving the other hunter a relieved smile. Singer picked up the radio, gesturing he would call the others with the good news.

John stepped across the circle, squeezing Dean's shoulder first before crouching down to Caleb and Sam. "That's why I have the stripes, private." They were safe.

He looked around the cave, noticing a tied up Ian, then Rick. He gave the fallen hunter a solemn nod, recognizing his sacrifice. "Damn if this ain't a mess, boys."

"Caleb's alive, Dad."

Winchester cut his eyes to his youngest son, shaking his head. "I can see that, Sam." He offered Caleb his hand. The kid grasped it. John hauled him to his feet. "You okay?"

"Better than Rick." Caleb glanced towards Hasting's body. "The Wendigo…"

John shut him up by pulling him into a hard embrace. "You give us a scare like that again, Junior, and I'll have you on shit recon jobs the next year or two."

John drew back, holding Caleb at arms length. "You understand?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry I worried you all."

"I'm the one who's sorry." Bobby appeared behind John, roughly hugging the kid. "And I'm damn glad you're okay." Singer tucked the thermal blanket around Caleb's shoulders. "Your daddy should be here any minute." He glanced to John. "Mac knew the boys weren't in that other cave."

As if prompted by Bobby, Mackland rushed in. "Caleb! Thank God!" John pulled Bobby back, giving Macklanc access to his son. Mackland put both hands on the sides of his son's face. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm…okay, Dad," Caleb replied shakily. "Just a little cold."

"He's mildly hypothermic, dehydrated, and has a fever due to an infection from the septic wound on his leg."

"He didn't ask for your diagnosis, Doctor Sawyer," Dean snapped.

Dean had helped Sam up. His sons were standing next to each other, close to Caleb. John shook his head, smiling at their willfulness and determination. It was something he had ingrained in them. They had not given up on Caleb. He hoped that they would never give up on each other and righting the wrongs that had been done to their family..

"Let's go home, my boys," Jim said from the opening of the cave, wiping his eyes.

It sounded like a good idea to John, the best one he had heard in a long while.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Morning found Joshua ready to be away from Jim's farm. His mother had already gone when he woke, which he found odd considering she had waited for Mackland's return. Joshua had come with Harland and Ian on the original hunt. But, Mackland wanted to check on Hastings's head wound. Joshua got the impression the physician was merely acting on his Hippocratic Oath and not genuine concern for the hunter's welfare. He couldn't actually fault him. Ian had wanted to kill Caleb.

Joshua poured hot water into the mixture of herbs he had gathered, then stirred them. He wasn't exactly working from the goodness of his heart either. The tea would have Ian back to his obnoxious self faster than any modern medical intervention. Then they could leave Sunnybrook Farm. He had already drank a cup for his headache, which was gone within twenty minutes.

He made his way to the living room where Ian was brooding in front of the fire, sitting the tea on the coffee table. "Here. This will help your head."

Ian ignored the cup, continuing to stare into the dancing flames. "That's twice you've kept me from killing that sonofabitch Reaves, Sawyer."

Joshua raised a brow. "Look it as twice I've saved your life."

Ian looked at the tea, wrinkling his nose. "I'm not afraid of John Winchester."

Joshua crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe I hit you too hard."

"You didn't see him shedding any tears over my brother did you?" Ian avoided looking directly at Joshua.

Joshua had some sympathy for Ian. He had lost a brother, but Ian had never expressed closeness to Rick. Joshua reached out to pat Ian's shoulder, then thought better of it. "It's not the Knight's way to…"

"Don't give me that Knight shit." Ian glanced up, the flames in the fireplace reflected in his eyes. "He got his golden squire back. That's all he cared about."

"Pastor Jim…" Joshua mentioned. The Guardian had provided some words of comfort.

"Jim what?" Ian leaned forward. "The Guardian said a few words over his corpse. I'm sure Rick would be real grateful."

Joshua ran a hand through his hair. "What did you expect him to do, Ian?"

"I have no expectations."

"Or loyalties?"

"I have priorities," Ian retorted in a low voice.

"Be careful those _priorities_ don't find you joining your brother." Joshua retorted, not liking the venom in Ian's tone.

"Is that a threat?" Ian laughed. "Coming from you?"

"No." Joshua picked up the untouched cup of tea, no longer feeling charitable or impatient for a long road trip with Hastings and his father. It's merely friendly advice. I know these men. Better than you."

"I know enough. I know if that had been you or me out there with Rick and not Reaves…the Wendigo would be having one hell of a Christmas dinner right now."

Joshua was nothing if not a realist. They were the foot soldiers in The Brotherhood. It made Joshua extra careful on his hunts to be aware of self-protection. "I have no doubt you're right."

Surprise seemed to flash on Ian's face. He shook his head. "Then you better learn who your real friends are."

"Like Griffin Porter?" Esme disliked Griffin, warned her son about him numerous times. Harland, on the other hand, was good friends with the man. Perhaps it was part of the reason Griffin was always courteous to Joshua, even going out of his way to compliment him on his talents, ask about his training with Buzz and Missouri. But, more and more, Joshua saw his mother as having clarity on the situation. Porter could not be trusted.

"He rewards loyalty and understands priorities."

"As long as those priorities are in line with his own aspirations?" Joshua knew of Griffin's desire for power.

Ian smiled. "Better than what's going on around here. I'm no one's lackey." Ian snorted. "Look at you, making tea, _helping_, for what? You don't exist, just like Rick." Ian shook his head again. "Wise up."

Joshua gripped the tea cup, the saucer rattled slightly in his hand. "I'll tell my father that you're ready to go. I am sure that you'll want to spend some time with your family at a time like this."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

"He still asleep?"

Sam's unexpected voice brought Dean's head up as he quietly exited Caleb's room and entered the one he shared with his brother.

"Yeah. Mac's in with him. I thought I'd see if there was any apple pie left, give him some time." Dean glanced to the room again. He hadn't ever seen Mac quite so shaken.

"There's fruit cake," Sam said, interrupting his thoughts. "Mrs. Simpson made it."

Dean pantomimed gagging. "You want me to make a trip to the clinic too? We've met the one Winchester quota today."

"It wasn't that bad." Sam rubbed his newly casted arm.

"So the super brain is safe." Dean messed his brother's hair. Sam ducked away with an annoyed glare.

"I'm okay. Doctor McCoy set my arm herself."

Dean sat beside his brother on the bed. "And did the lovely Liz give you a present? A lollipop for being a good boy?"

"No." Sam frowned, elbowing his brother for the 'little kid' reference. "But she brought Dad some coffee and fudge. Bobby made kissing noises."

Dean rolled his eyes, rubbing his ribs. "And he says me and Caleb need to grow up."

"You aren't exactly on the mature side."

"And you are?"

"Years ahead of you two."

Dean studied Sam for a moment. "You're pretty damn smart, but that doesn't mean you're agrown up." He hadn't forgotten Sam's heroics in the cave. "I'm still the oldest and on a hunt, I'm in charge. Got it?"

"I couldn't stay out of the hunt, not when you were in danger. I watch your back. Right?"

"Yeah," Dean conceded. "And I appreciate it. I also appreciate what you did…all the research, convincing me to look for Caleb."

"He's family. You're always telling me it's the most important thing we Winchesters have."

"Best gift ever."

Sam grinned. "Speaking of gifts, Dad and Jim are taking me and Scout to get the Christmas tree."

"You're going to work the injury angle aren't you?"

"You taught me well." Sam smiled. "Want to come?"

Dean cut his gaze to Caleb's door once more. "I better stick around here. Make sure Damien stays out of trouble."

"I don't think Mac's going to let him out of his sight for a while."

"Probably not, but you know he'll be chomping at the bit after Mac's mother hen routine. He'll need another rescue."

Sam nodded. "He's hugged me like a hundred times. I think Esme might have drugged his tea."

"Look at it this way, Sammy." Dean bobbed his eyebrows. "What better time to be the favorite nephews of a millionaire than at Christmas."

Sam's smile widened. "This is so going to be the best Christmas ever."

RcJSnsnsnsNRcJ

Caleb opened his eyes, glancing around the room. He was at Jim's, in his own bed. From the soft light flooding through the window, falling across the wooden floors, he guessed it was almost mid-morning. He hadn't remembered much of the trip home. The pain he'd been in from hanging suspended by his wrists for days had overruled his father's concerns about head wounds and hypothermia. Mac had given Caleb some blessed drugs. The lightheaded floaty feeling and absence of the burning ache in his shoulders and back told him Mackland was still being generous with the pain killers.

He decided to risk moving, rolling over on his side. A dull throb pounded across his upper body, but it was tolerable. Caleb couldn't suppress the quick inhale of breath as his ribs protested his attempt to sit up.

"Hey." the soft voice was accompanied by a light touch on his arm.

He was hoping not to wake Dean. Despite the uncomfortable position the teen had been sleeping in, Caleb knew he was at least getting some much needed rest.

"Hey yourself."

Dean straightened in the chair by Caleb's bed. "What are you doing?"

"Prepping for the New York Marathon," Caleb replied with a grimace. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"

Dean rolled his eyes, stood and helped his friend sit up by stuffing some pillows behind him. "You're as bad as Dad when you're hurt."

Caleb raised a challenging brow. "And you're a model patient?"

Dean reclaimed his seat and stretched. "I have my moments."

Caleb rested his arm over his mid-section, trying to breathe carefully. "Yeah. I suppose you do."

The seventeen-year-old looked at him. "How're the shoulders and leg?"

"Blissfully numb again." Caleb grinned. "Dad must have slipped me the good stuff."

"I doubt he'd deny you anything at the moment."

Caleb licked his lips. "So now's the perfect time to ask for that chalet in the Alps. Think of the fun we could have with the slopes and snow bunnies next Christmas."

Some of the worry lines disappeared from Dean's face, which had been Caleb's intention all along. "Or you could just ask for that Ferrari from Miami Vice you always wanted."

Caleb frowned. "Dude, I have a car."

Dean snorted. "That's like saying Bobby has a girlfriend."

"I'm going to tell him you insulted Fiona." Caleb shifted on the bed, wincing. "He'll have you pulling shitty recon jobs."

The worry lines were back. Dean leaned closer. "You sure you're okay, man?"

"I'm breathing." Caleb met his gaze, deciding a change in subject was needed. "How's Sammy?"

"Broken arm, bump on the head. Dr. McCoy casted him." Dean bobbed his eyebrows. "Nice and white."

Caleb perked up. "Perfect for some Christmas decorating. I can draw some graphic elf pictures. You can pen some raunchy verse."

"I thought so," Dean replied. "But right now he's working the injury angle as we speak. He and Pastor Jim dragged Dad out to the church to pick out the Christmas tree. I'm betting Sam comes back with the biggest one in the church yard."

"Not to mention the presents he's going to score." Caleb sighed. "Hey," he said as an idea suddenly struck him. "I should rack up, too. Near death has to increase the present quota."

Dean laughed. "You really think so?"

Caleb nodded. "Maybe this year separate Christmas and birthday gifts." He didn't really care about material gifts, but if it lightened Dean's mood he'd work that angle. "And I'm so getting the entire butterscotch pie this time."

"Dad may fight you on that one. It's his favorite, too."

"Have you looked at my face?" Caleb gestured to the discoloration maligning his features. "And did you see the way Johnny wasted that Wendigo bastard? Please. I have him right where I want him." Caleb would be lucky to get one piece of pie and avoid extra maneuvers after his recuperation for getting caught by the Wendigo.

Dean's smirk told him the younger man was thinking the same thing. "Right and Bobby's going to plant a big wet one on Harland under the mistletoe."

"I know about these things. Trust me."

"You're not always right, Damien." Dean's eyes narrowed. "You were wrong about the Santa thing all those years ago, Dude. Sometimes people do come back."

Caleb gave him a puzzled look, not quite sure what the younger man was thinking. "I didn't see any fat guy in a red suit using a sleigh to drag my ass out of that cave. That was all you, Deuce…and your elf Sammy. And if I haven't made some kind of drug-induced girly scene out of it already; I really appreciate it. You guys saved my life."

"Nothing you wouldn't have done for me."

"True." Caleb admitted. He would easily sacrifice his life for Dean or Sam. But it didn't make the idea of leaving them behind any easier. That kind of hurt was the last thing he wanted to impart.

"I have something for you."

"A present already?" Caleb grinned, thankful for the reprieve. "Maybe I should get injured more often at the holidays."

Dean snorted. "Don't tempt fate. We have enough problems." Caleb watched him dig in his jacket pocket. To Caleb's surprise he pulled out his watch. "I was going to save it for your birthday but…"

Caleb took the watch with a laugh. He'd lost it when the Wendigo was dragging him and Rick through the forest. "You Winchesters are notorious re-gifters." He ran his fingers over the shiny metal, then glanced up at Dean. "Thanks, man. Cullen gave it to me."

Dean nodded. "I know. Family's important."

Caleb watched Dean squirm slightly. "We know how easy it can be gone."

The psychic put down the watch and sighed. Maybe they needed to have a serious talk after all. "Look, Deuce…I'm sorry as hell this all happened. The way it happened. Sammy told me a little bit. It must have been hard being here and thinking I'd run out on you guys."

Dean swallowed. "I didn't want to believe it."

"I can imagine…if the situation was reversed." Caleb shook his head. "Let's not go there."

"If Sammy hadn't…"

"But he did and I'm fine." Caleb waited for Dean to look at him again. "But if the worst ever happens, I want you to stay on the straight and narrow. Understand me?"

"Like you said the worst didn't happen and…"

"And I trust you to carry on the fight if it did. Send me off with one hell of a party. Have some shots, grab a couple of girls, you know."

Dean snorted. "Those are your final wishes?"

"Yeah."

Dean held his gaze. He was afraid he had said too much when Dean's mouth suddenly twitched. "Do I get your apartment?"

Caleb grinned. "Yes. And Tricorp. It's all yours."

_RcJSnsnsnsNRcJ_

Dean glanced down at The Three Musketeers book in his hand, the heaviness of it sucking away the momentary levity. He'd been reading it to Caleb earlier before the fever broke, before he would buy completely into Mac's promise that Caleb was going to be fine. He lifted his gaze to his best friend once more. "Can I ask you something?"

Caleb nodded. "Anything."

Dean pulled the two of spades from the pages of the book, holding it up. "Why do you call me Deuce?"

The seventeen-year-old watched the older hunter shift uncomfortably on the mattress. "That's not exactly a bedtime story."

"Never stopped you before," Dean recalled that Christmas Eve many years ago when Caleb had told Dean about his parent's death.

"It's not important, Deuce."

"It is to me." Dean didn't want things left unsaid between them. "Consider it an early Christmas present."

"I lived. That's should be present enough. In fact, I shouldn't have to buy you anything for your birthday either."

Dean considered it. "Nope. Not feeling it."

"Ungrateful."

The teen waggled the card. "It's the lowest card in the deck, man. I'm supposed to be your best friend."

Caleb smirked. "Who told you that nasty rumor?"

"Please."

Dean brushed his hand against Caleb's arm. When Caleb exhaled heavily Dean knew he had won out. Caleb took the card from Dean with a roll of his eyes. "My Dad gave me this card…a few nights before…well you know."

"Why _that_ card?" Dean pushed and sensed the moment the walls went back up.

Caleb shrugged. "Look, man, I'm really tired."

Dean frowned. "You're changing the subject."

"Can't we just say it's important to me and leave it at that?" Caleb handed the card back to Dean. "I promise to tell you some day. But cut me some slack right now. You can count it as my early birthday present."

Dean traced his finger over the edges of the playing card. "When I thought you were dead…I…well…" He met Caleb's gaze, silently reminded himself of the importance of saying the things that needed to be said even if Caleb wasn't willing to play along. "Let's just say that you're important to me too. .."

Caleb grinned. "I'm still not giving you any of my presents, _Deuce_."

Dean snorted, rolled his eyes. "All these years and you still have no idea how to share, Damien."

"Now can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

Caleb frowned. "Did Bobby actually hug me or was that some fever induced delirium."

"Yeah. He did." Dean laughed. "It was a beautiful thing. There might have even been a tear shed."

Caleb's mouth twitched. "I guess Pastor Jim is right. This is the season of miracles."

"Sometimes it is," Dean agreed. They would be under one roof for Christmas, maybe into the New Year. Family was the most important gift. "But I'm still holding you to the birthday celebration. Eighteen is a big deal."

"Are you kidding?" Caleb snorted. "I came back from the dead just for that party."

Dean groaned. "It's good to know you have your priorities straight, Machiavelli."

"Always." Caleb raised a brow. "So, I was thinking we could hit this sweet little border town and then…"

Dean listened to Caleb's voice as he listed the possibilities for their great adventure. Dad would probably quash any extravagant outing and Sam would beg to come along until he or Caleb probably caved, definitely changing the rating of the fun they could have. But nothing at the moment could damper Dean's spirit. As far as his world was concerned, all was well.

RcJ

A/N: I would have loved to do a scene with Mac and Caleb, as well as a longer scene with John and Caleb; but there was only so much time and I truly need to return to To the Victor. I hope what I did manage was enough of a pay off. Again, have a wonderful Christmas and a great New Year to everyone.


End file.
